


Still Time For You

by torakowalski



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-05
Updated: 2010-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Day High School AU.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"You go to college parties all the time," Tim grumbled, pulling his hand away from Abby's to suck grumpily on his chocolate milkshake.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Yes," Abby agreed, "But I'm me and you're not."</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Jimmy hummed like that made sense.  Tim needed better friends.  It was one college party; he'd be fine.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Time For You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for AU Big Bang on LJ. Much love to villainny for the conversation that sparked this whole idea and for not minding when I sent her texts begging for her opinions on things like what Abby would wear to prom. Also massive thanks to ladyflowdi for super-fast beta and American picking.
> 
> Warnings: Tim is 16, Tony is 21. Also underage drunkenness.

“Oh, my god,” Tim managed, staring at the car, _The Car_ (the capital letters were totally necessary, because this was a 1984 Camaro Z28, the car of his dreams) sitting on his driveway.  
   
His mom smiled and spread her arms wide.  “Happy birthday.  Do you like it?”  
   
“Do I-?” Tim moved his mouth silently, no more words coming out.  “But, but, _how_?”  They weren’t poor, but Tim had wanted this car for as long as he could remember; he knew how much it cost. It cost more than his mom’s car, more than his dad’s car, more than the bicycle they’d surprised Sarah with over the weekend and-.  Wait.  
   
He turned to his mom, managing to tear his eyes away from the car long enough.  “Mom?  What’s going on?”  
   
His mom’s smile slipped but she did her best to hitch it up again.  Tim wasn’t fooled.  “Your father and I are really proud of you, that’s all.  Graduating two years early, heading for Annapolis, we wanted to give you something to show you that.”  
   
Tim hid a wince at the mention of Annapolis and stood his ground.  “And?”  
   
His mom glanced toward the house, where Sarah was hanging out of her bedroom window and making faces at them.  She lowered her voice and put her hand on Tim’s arm, turning him away from the house.  He tensed, waiting.  “Your dad’s been redeployed,” she told.  
   
It took a while for the buzzing in Tim’s ears to fade, but he definitely heard himself say, “_No_.”  
   
His dad had been stationed at Alameda for so long now that Tim had let himself believe there’d be no more redeployments.  
   
“We don’t have to move,” Tim’s mom told him, holding up her hands, “He’s going to Iraq.”  She said it like it was something Tim should be pleased about, that he didn’t have to move schools again because his dad was going to a _war zone_.  
   
“No,” he said again, knowing he sounded six years old, Sarah’s age but, god, it was his sixteenth birthday; he didn’t need this today.  
   
Her arm slid around his waist and she squeezed him tight.  “You knew the hardship tour was coming, Timmy.” She took his hand and pressed a set of car keys into them; suddenly his beautiful new car didn’t look so shiny and bright. "It’ll be okay,” she promised.  “Now, it’s your birthday!  Go to school and show off a little.”  
   
“I-.” He wanted to ask questions, like how she was holding up, when his dad was leaving.  He remembered the last time his dad had been deployed overseas, how calm she’d been but how her lips would quiver and her eyes would shine sometimes when she thought no one could see.   
   
She waved him off.  “Go to _school_, Timothy.  They won’t let you graduate if you don’t go.”  
   
Tim managed to rake up a smile from somewhere.  “Okay,” he said, because that was what she wanted him to say. They weren’t a family who _talked_.  He slipped the key into the lock, surprised that he could still feel a jolt of excitement at the pop of the door unlocking.  Without quite looking at her, he added, “Thanks, Mom.”  
   


***  
   
The Camaro was a dream to drive, just like _Classic American_ had said it would be.  Tim wasn’t the most confident driver, but he felt like it today, with his seat rolled back as far as it could go, one hand on the wheel.  Yeah, he felt like a man.  
   
A bus swerved into his lane and he cursed, stepping on the brake and putting both hands back on the wheel.  Okay, he could feel like a man without driving like Steve McQueen; that was okay too.   
   
This being California, there was no shortage of cars in the student parking lot behind his school.  Tim couldn’t help feeling that his was the hottest though, as he curved neatly around into the widest parking space, pulling to a stop between a BMW and a Ford. 

His was a classic; that was automatically better.

Tim could feel people looking at him and, for once, he didn’t try to duck their gazes.  He didn’t think you could turn up to school in a Camaro and get thrown in a dumpster all in one day; it just didn’t sound like something that could happen.  
   
He turned off the ignition and climbed out slowly, easing the keys into his front pocket.  Oh yeah, people were looking at him.  And… he was blushing.  Great.  Awesome.   
   
“Tim,” Jimmy Palmer said, bumping into Tim’s back and nearly sending him flying back into the driver’s seat.  “Is this yours?”  
   
Tim closed the door and locked up the car.  “Hey, Jimmy,” he said, turning with a smile.  The small crowd of popular kids who’d stopped to see the car, shook their heads at each other and started to disperse, like it was obvious that whatever car he drove, Tim McGee was still the freak prodigy who hung out with the other dorks.  “Yeah, birthday present from my parents.”  
   
Jimmy whistled.  “Sweet,” he said, running his hand along the hood.  Tim wanted to tell him not to touch, but for all that he often fell over his own feet, Jimmy was never clumsy with his hands.    
   
“Yeah,” Tim agreed and didn’t tell him it was partly a guilt present and partly a pre-emptive apology from his dad in case he managed to get himself killed this time.   
   
The familiar cough of a familiar car made Tim turn around and watch Abby backed her hearse into the tightest possible space, between a bubblegum pink Cadillac and the wall of the gym.  Abby liked to park near the perkiest cars, said it gave her car something to look at.   
   
Abby was wearing smart black jeans and a black dress shirt held together by thin, silver chains, almost ordinary for her.  Her eyebrows climbed and continued to climb as she came towards Tim and Jimmy.  “Nice penis extension, Timmy,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze like she actually meant it.   
   
Tim grinned at her, letting her hug him even though the last time he did that, he’d ended up with black (“burnished cherry, McGee”) lipstick on his collar and a lecture from his mom.   
   
“Happy birthday,” she said in his ear and he couldn’t help tightening his arms around her because it was a happy birthday, sort of; he’d gotten the best present in the world, and he knew he should feel happier.  “Tell me about it later,” she added in a whisper and he nodded, wondering how he’d ended up with the most perceptive person in the world for a best friend.  
   
***  
   
The bell rang while they were making their way into school and Jimmy who had rollcall with the other sophomores squeaked and took off at a run.  Normally, Tim would be right behind him; he hated being late too, but today he felt calm, Zen maybe like his grandma’s self-help books said.   
   
Abby walked Tim to the lockers, but she always had something to do that meant she got out of homeroom. She was pretty much every teacher’s favourite and she could always convince one of them that they needed her help with something.  
   
“See you at lunch!” Abby told him, grabbing his hand and giving him a peck on the cheek.   
   
Tim waved her off, rubbing his cheek for any waxy, lipsticky residue, and didn’t notice that he was about to walk into Cecile Chambers until he… walked into Cecile Chambers.  Great.  
   
Cecile was beautiful.  She was blonde and tall and a cheerleader and Abby said she was a walking stereotype but that was fine with Tim, he’d had a crush on her since fifth grade.   
   
Normally, she acted like he had a fatal and contagious disease whenever he came within ten feet of her, but today she didn’t even try to brush the cooties off from where he’d bumped against her while trying not to fall directly into her breasts.   
   
“Hi, Tim,” she said, leaning against her locker, which was next to his, which had always been next to his and never before caused her to speak to him.  
   
“Ngfhdfgd,” Tim said.  He thought that was actually pretty eloquent on the spur of the moment.   
   
“Is that your car out back?” Cecile asked him, still smiling this tiny little smile.  Tim thought she had a lovely smile.  
   
“Which car?” Tim asked, then hated himself.  “I mean, yes.  Yes, it’s my car.”  Something about saying that made his shoulders straighten and his chest puff out.  He didn’t fight it.   
   
Cecile’s smile widened.  “_Sweet_,” she said and it was entirely different from when Jimmy had said it.  She touched his arm, lightly just lightly but still, a touch.  “See you later.”  
   
Tim watched her saunter all the way to the classroom and nearly forgot that it was his classroom too.  
   
***  
   
The day passed in the usual blur of lessons and lunch and trying not to get shoved into any lockers.   
   
Abby had bowling with her nuns straight after school and Jimmy had whatever he did when he wasn’t hanging out with them (usually staring with worrying attachment at the new issue of the _British Medical Journal_, reading and rereading the latest findings by his hero, Dr. Donald Mallard) but they’d both promised to meet up with Tim later for birthday milkshakes.  
   
Tim bounced his keys in his hand as he made his way out to the parking lot.  He wasn’t particularly looking forward to going home and watching his dad packing for his deployment, but he _was_ looking forward to the drive that would take him there.   
   
Five feet from his car, he stopped, pinched himself to check he wasn’t dreaming, then started to walk forward again.  Cecile Chambers was sitting on the hood of Tim’s car.  This was… not exactly an unfamiliar event in his dreams but in reality, it wasn’t so common.  
   
“Hi, again, Tim,” Cecile said, swinging her legs.  If it were anyone else, Tim would have asked them to please stop sitting on his brand new car, but he honestly didn’t care if he wound up with an imprint of Cecile’s ass in the metal, in fact he thought he might like that.  Like a ship’s figurehead for the new millennium.   
   
“Hi,” he managed and wow, words.  Well, word.  
   
“Are you going to Kyle’s party next month?” she asked, like there was any chance in the world that Tim would be. Kyle Marshall had graduated last year and started Berkeley in the fall; the longest conversation Tim had ever had with him was from inside a dumpster.  
   
“No?” Tim tried even though it wasn’t really a question.  He wasn’t going to a Kyle’s party; he hadn’t been invited to a party held by a football player since he was thirteen years old and that football player had been Abby.  
   
Cecile leaned back.  She had what Tim’s mom would call ‘lovely lines’.  “That’s a shame,” she said, smiling up at him.  “If you were, you could have taken me.”  
   
Tim didn’t swallow his tongue, but the only reason he knew that was because he was still breathing; it certainly felt like he had.  “I could?” he asked.  That was news to him.  
   
Cecile shrugged.  “Sure.  But then you’re not going so it doesn’t matter.”  
   
“No, I’m.  I’m going,” Tim told her, tripping over his words.  “I mean, I could go.  Yeah.”   
   
“Great,” Cecile said, smiling widely at him and bouncing up off the car.  “It’s on the fifth. Pick me up at eight.  You know where I live right?”  
   
“Right,” Tim agreed but she was already striding off.  Tim just blinked after her.  Wow.  Being sixteen was a rollercoaster ride of emotions.  
   
***  
   
“A party?” Abby asked, later that night, her voice rising so loud that people a couple of booths over turned to look at them.  
   
“Shh,” Tim hissed, flapping his hands at her.  He didn’t want it to get back to Cecile that he’d never been to a proper party in his life.  
   
Jimmy just stirred his milkshake and watched them, like they were a really fascinating TV show.   
   
“Wait,” Abby said, thankfully slightly less shrilly.  “Kyle Marshall’s party?  That’s a college party.”  She reached over the table and squeezed his hand.  “No, Tim, don’t.  They’ll eat you alive.”  
   
Tim decided not to be offended at Abby’s lack of faith in him; she was probably right.  “Cecile, invited me, Abby.  _Cecile_.”  
   
Jimmy hummed like that made it totally understandable.  Tim was glad to have him in his corner.  Abby sighed, long and hopeless.  “Why couldn’t you still be madly in love with me, huh?  I wouldn’t be dragging you along to a college party.”  
   
To be fair, Tim had never been _madly_ in love with Abby, in fact he was no more or less in love with her now than he had been while they were dating.  It was just that he was sixteen and read a lot of novels and thought that maybe, just maybe, madly in love should be what he was aiming for.  
   
"You go to college parties all the time," Tim grumbled, pulling his hand away from hers to suck grumpily on his chocolate milkshake.  It was nearly finished, but he had no qualms about having another; it was his birthday after all, and Sarah had stolen most of his birthday ice cream after dinner.  
   
"Yes," Abby agreed, "But I’m me and you're not."  
   
Jimmy hummed again like that made sense too.  Tim needed better friends. It was one college party; he'd be _fine_.

***

A week after Tim’s birthday, Tim’s dad finished packing up for Iraq, hefted his bag over his shoulder and carried it out to his car.

Tim was still mad at him for going but he knew that was ridiculous, so he trailed after him and tried to pretend like he was supportive.

“Hey, champ,” his dad said when they were standing by the car. He bumped his fist against Tim’s shoulder. Tim hated when he did that; Tim never knew how to react. 

Tim hitched up a smile. “Hey, dad.” 

“This’ll be you soon,” his dad told him, like that was meant to be inspiring, like Tim was supposed to be looking forward to joining the Navy and risking his life. 

“Mm,” Tim said and didn’t let himself go there right now. He knew that at some point he was going to have to tell his dad that he didn’t want to join the Navy, but not now, now he was going to concentrate on projecting his perfect son image so his dad would have that to take away with him.

“Take care of your sister, all right?”

“I always do,” Tim promised and then Sarah was there, running out of the house ahead of their mom to throw her arms around their dad’s legs.

“Daddy,” she whispered and he picked her up, giving her the kind of hug that he’d never given Tim, even when he was Sarah’s age.

Tim’s mom came up behind Tim and put her hand on his shoulder. She hadn’t really said much today; Tim couldn’t imagine how she must feel.

A car horn blared, making Tim jump and he looked across to see Lieutenant Vigar who lived four houses down and was part of Tim’s dad’s unit, drive slowly past. 

“All right,” Tim’s dad said. “Looks like it’s time to go. Can’t have her getting there before me.”

He dropped a kiss on Sarah’s cheek then carried her over to Tim, who took her willingly, surprised when she wrapped her legs around his waist and clung on. She was normally way too independent to be held.

Tim looked away while his dad said goodbye to his mom then kept his chin up while his dad shook his hand.

The three of them, Tim, Sarah and their mom, stood together, watching while his dad drove away.

“It’s okay,” Tim heard someone say, realising belatedly that it was him. That he was trying to be inspiring. He wasn’t usually very good at inspiring. “He’ll be fine.”

He crossed his fingers against Sarah’s back and hoped it was true.

***

Tim wouldn’t say he was nervous as he drove to Cecile’s house. Although, he mostly wouldn’t say that because he was afraid that he’d puke if he opened his mouth. 

He was wearing his best corduroy slacks and _Go ahead, make my data!_ t-shirt and he’d let Sarah do his hair, which was probably a mistake, but the alternative was letting Abby do it, and he’d rather look like Zac Efron than a member of Metallica right now.

Cecile was sitting on her front porch waiting for Tim when he pulled up and she was half way down the path before he’d gotten out of the car. Still, he did get out and he reached out to greet her (not to kiss her, no way was he going to try to kiss her, but he thought a hug might not be ought of the question). She breezed past him with a smile and around to the passenger side door. Belatedly, Tim realised he should have opened the door for her, but she was already inside by then. 

Shit. It wasn’t really his fault he’d forgotten though; he’d never driven a girl who wasn’t Abby or his sister anywhere before, and, well, Cecile was wearing really_tight_ white Capri pants. 

“Hi, Tim,” Cecile said, smiling across at him once he’d lowered himself back into the car. She had lots of mascara and pale pink lipstick on, her hair backcombed so severely Tim thought it must hurt. She reached over the handbrake and squeezed his thigh. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tim said, coughed, no, okay, it was a squeak but, come on, she was _touching his thigh_.

She turned to look out the windshield, sadly taking her hand off his leg so she could dig around in her purse. She pulled out a comb then raised her eyebrows at Tim. “Shouldn’t we go?”

Go? Right. The party. “Yes,” Tim said, turning the key in the ignition with suddenly sweaty fingers. Flustered, he released the clutch before he’d stepped off the gas and the car spluttered into a stall. “Shit. I mean, I didn’t mean-.” Tim stammered, taking his feet off the pedals, in case he managed to cause any more damage.

Cecile laughed. “It’s okay,” she said softly but he wasn’t sure she was exactly laughing _with_ him.

“Right,” Tim agreed because it was. He was a good driver; this was only a party; this was only one girl. He took a deep breath, turned the car back on and moved off smoothly this time. Thank god.

***

They didn’t talk much on the drive up to Berkely which was okay, Tim was fine with that, too busy concentrating on following the GPS and not getting lost.

Cecile stared out the window and hummed along to the music on the radio and only looked at Tim once when he asked her if she knew anyone else who was going tonight.

“Oh yeah,” she said casually, “Pretty much everyone.”

Right, Tim thought. That was cool. One thing he really loved was being the only person who was completely out of place at a social gathering. It was right up there with athlete’s foot and finding half a worm in his apple amongst his favourite things.

“Why-” Tim started to ask then stopped himself. He’d nearly asked why Cecile had wanted to go with him, god.

Luckily, she didn’t seem to have been listening, sitting up suddenly and waving toward one large brownstone building surrounded by patchy green lawn and low-hanging trees. 

There were kids – college kids – spilling up the steps, across the lawn, around the back and woah, okay, this wasn’t just a party; this was a _frat_ party. 

“Oh, um,” Tim said, “Listen, are you sure you want to go in there?”

Cecile looked over her shoulder and frowned at him. She’d already unbuckled her seatbelt. “Of course,” she told him, like there was nothing to worry about. “Just park anywhere along here. They won’t care.”

“Right,” Tim muttered, thinking about his beautiful new car left on the street at the mercy of drunken fratboys. Cecile had already hopped out of the car though while he was stopped in the middle of the road deciding, so Tim sighed and parked against the curb, wincing all the while.

By the time Tim had locked the car, Cecile was half way up the drive, but a hand on his arm stopped him from following her.    
   
Shit, Tim thought, this was the moment when he got kicked out on his ass. He raised his chin and looked across at the guy holding him back. He was tall, about as tall as Tim who never seemed to stop growing, and wearing a really ugly blue and white checked shirt, open over a tight white one. He was also smiling at Tim, a little incredulously maybe, but not like he wanted to pound Tim’s head in.

“Woah,” the guy said, waving over Tim’s shoulder at the car,  “Dude, is this yours?”

“Yeah?” Tim said cautiously, tightening his hands around the keys.

The guy’s grin widened. “Dude, seriously? Oh man, she’s a beauty. Can I have a look?”

Tim hesitated. He’d lost sight of Cecile and he really should try to find her but someone -- a college someone, an, okay pretty _hot_, college someone -- was taking an interest in his car. “Yeah,” he said and walked around to pop the hood.

***

After half an hour of showing off his baby to the guy (“Tony,” he said, with a wide grin that was almost but not quite a leer) and to the guy’s friends, Tim started to feel guilty enough about Cecile that he made himself suck up his courage and go inside the house.

It wasn’t quite like the movies made it out to be; sure there were people drinking and making out in quiet corners, but no one was having sex on the furniture or being made to wear women’s clothing or any of the millions of other things Tim had heard about frat parties. 

Someone tried to push a red plastic cup of something into Tim’s hand but he shook his head, moving from the living room into the kitchen, looking for Cecile. 

He found her. She was sitting on the draining board, plastic red cup in one hand and her other hand in the back pocket of some guy’s jeans while the guy kissed his way down her throat.

“Hey!” Tim said. Wow, college parties weren’t safe for high school girls; he never should have left her alone.

Cecile’s eyes opened and she bit her lip. “Oh,” she said, “Tim.”

“Hi?” Tim prompted.

The guy didn’t bother to turn around, just kissed under Cecile’s jaw instead, lips against the soft, pale skin that Tim had maybe had one too many thoughts about. “Um,” Cecile said, “This is Grant? My boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Tim repeated dumbly and apparently that was enough to get the guy to turn around.

“Yeah,” he said, the _back off_ very clear. “Who are you?” He didn’t look threatened; he didn’t look like Tim even registered on his radar. 

Cecile’s arms wound around Grant’s neck and she rested her chin on top of his head. “This is Tim,” she said easily, “He’s my ride.”

_Ride_, Tim thought, like they were best girl friends or like he was her taxi driver. God, he was stupid. 

“Hey, Tim,” Grant said, picking up a cup and pressing it into Tim’s numb hands like it was a consolation prize. “Thanks for that.” He waggled his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Cecile. “Drink up.”  
   
Not sure what else to do, Tim drank.  The drink was bitter and tangy and he made a face but it wasn’t terrible so he finished it. Then he sort of stood uselessly in the middle of the kitchen for a minute while the girl he’d thought _he_ was on a date with made out with the guy who actually _was_ his boyfriend. 

Abby was right; Tim wasn’t cut out for college parties.

Glumly, he wandered back into the main room where he knew precisely no one and there was nothing for him to do. He fiddled with the rim of his cup for a while until the next time someone offered him a drink. He took it.   
   
He was going to stop at two, because he was driving and he didn’t want to crash his brand new car. Or, you know, die, dying would also be bad. But apparently two was more than enough anyway.  His knees started to feel rubbery, his skin was hot, a really quite pleasant warmth in his cheeks, his chest, rolling down to his fingertips. He felt better, definitely. And better still a minute later, when a really pretty brunette girl came over to say hi and he didn’t even stutter before saying hi back.  
   
The girl’s name was Kate. She was a junior and thought she might major in psychology. She didn’t look surprised when Tim told her he was still in high school but she also didn’t look disgusted. She was nice and sort of amused by him.  The world was lazy and soft around the edges.  He felt fine; he felt good.  

“So, you’re a senior?” Kate asked and Tim just said, “Yeah,” without adding that he was the youngest senior at his school, partly because he didn’t feel the need to show off to her and partly because that would have been a lot of ‘s’ words and he’d noticed that he’d started to slur those.

“Do you think you might apply here next year?” 

Tim thought about it. Berkeley was a good school but no, “Johns Hopkins,” he said, “Or maybe MIT.” He’d never said that out loud before; Abby and Jimmy knew he didn’t want to go to Annapolis like he dad wanted, but he hadn’t told them that he had actual alternative plans.

Kate smiled slowly. “Are you really clever, Tim?”

Tim nodded quickly because he was, he really was, except oh. Nodding was a bad plan. “Ow,” he said, pressing his hand curiously to his temple. 

Kate bit her lip around a smile. “Are you okay?”

“Mm,” Tim hummed except he wasn’t suddenly; he felt dizzy. There was a row of drinks of the counter near where they were sitting and Tim felt so hot, he thought a drink might help.

It tasted different from the other two, sweeter and he made a face. Still, he drank half quickly before he started to feel kind of sick and passed it off to Kate. “You want?” he asked, holding it out.  
   
“What is it?” Kate asked, taking the cup doubtfully. 

“Beer,” Tim said with a shrug, because that was what they served at college parties, right? That had definitely been what he’d been drinking earlier. 

Kate took a tiny sip then laughed, putting the cup on the floor.  “That’s more than beer, Tim.”  She licked her lips and Tim watched, half because she was pretty and had nice lips and half to give himself something to focus beside how weird he was starting to feel. “That’s mostly vodka.”  
   
Oh, okay.  That was why Tim felt weird.  “Excuse me,” he mumbled, standing up with an effort, because he didn’t just feel _kind_ of sick anymore. 

He’d felt good earlier, had known he was maybe a little tipsy but it hadn’t felt like a bad thing. It felt like a bad thing now, the walls jumping rolling away from him and the floor feeling too far away. He pushed through a crowd of people, opening his mouth and hoping he was apologizing, then out the back door into the yard.

There were people out here too, but less and no one was paying any attention to him. The cool night air brushed against his face and he ended up on his hands and knees against an outside wall, taking big breaths. He would have really liked to puke, because he thought he’d feel better if he did, but he just kept on feeling sick and dizzy like an endless out of control nightmare. 

Tim swore to himself that if he survived this he wasn’t drinking again until he was twenty-one. Hell, he’d be okay never drinking again. Period.   
   
“Hey,” someone said and Tim cringed; he didn’t want company right now.   
   
He squinted open his eyes and, oh god, it was Tony, the guy from earlier who Tim had shown off his car to. Tim had felt cool then; he didn’t feel cool now. “Hey,” he croaked.  “Do you mind?” He meant _go away, give me some space, can’t you see I’m dying_, but the guy squatted down against the wall beside him instead, expensive sneakers braced carefully out of Tim’s puking range.  
   
“Man, you do not look good,” Tony told him.  
   
Tim answered him by throwing up, which was so many levels of mortifying that even Tim couldn’t count them. At least, once he was done, he felt a little bit less like he was dying.  More like he was already dead, sure, but less like he was dying.  
   
Tony sighed.  “You are so lucky you missed my shoes,” he said. Tim couldn’t really speak at the moment, so he just sort of groaned and hoped it sounded like an apology. He coughed and his stomach rolled over and then he was puking again.

Tony stood up. “This is why freshman should not be allowed to go to big boys’ parties,” he said and Tim would have told him he wasn’t a freshman but he was a little busy right now. He also didn’t want to die alone and before he could stop himself, he was reaching out, clammy hand grabbing Tony’s pant leg.

“Jeez,” Tony sighed, crouching down again by Tim’s other side. “I wasn’t leaving you, Clingy Frosh, I was being a nice guy and getting you some water.” He waved another of those evil red cups under Tim’s nose. 

Tim shook his head and batted at it weakly; he knew what those things did, now. 

Tony laughed. “It’s water. I promise,” he said, voice gentler than Tim had expected. 

Deciding that if Tony was lying, Tim really was going to vomit on his shoes next time, Tim took the cup. It was water. It was blessed, sweet water and he gulped it down faster than he probably should have done but that was okay, he didn’t throw it up and nothing had ever tasted so good. “More?” he asked, and his throat felt horrible. 

Tony got him more and stayed with Tim while he drank it. When he was finished, Tim smiled at Tony, feeling tired and loopy but so much better. “Thank you,” he remembered to say.

Tony groaned. “Jesus, why can’t you be obnoxious like all the other kids who crash our parties?” he asked but Tim didn’t think he was supposed to answer. According to the kids at his high school, he was plenty obnoxious, anyway. “Are you done now?”

Oh, Tim was so done. He was totally done with college life and he wanted to go home. Then he realised that Tony meant done with puking. “Yeah,” he said, “I think so.” He got half way through adding, “So I think I’ll go home now,” when he realised that he couldn’t. There was no way he was going to be able to drive.

“Fuck,” he muttered, even though he never swore out loud when other people could hear. 

“What?” Tony asked cautiously, looking ready to leap back away from Tim again. 

“I can’t drive home.” Tim didn’t meant to sound so miserable; it just sort of happened.

Tony groaned. He rubbed his face with the hand not smoothing lines down Tim’s back and oh, that was nice, when had he started doing that? “Kate is going to owe me big time,” Tony told him. He put a hand under Tim’s elbow and braced him to his feet. “Let’s get you home, kid.”  
   
Home sounded good, really great, even if it was going to lead to his mom killing and then grounding him for the rest of his life.   
   
“Which dorm?” Tony asked propelling Tim around the side of the building to the front. Tim maybe clung to him a little, but whatever.  It wasn’t like he could get any more mortified.   
   
Tim shook his head then stopped because wow, bad idea.  “No dorm.”  
   
Tony frowned at him. “So where’d you live? Dude, if you have a car like that and off-campus housing, fraternities are going to be crawling all over themselves to get you to rush.”  
   
Tim stared at him blankly.  He was too tired for whatever the hell Tony was talking about now. “Home,” he managed and didn’t understand Tony’s _why me?_ sigh.  Tony put both hands on Tim’s shoulders and shook him a little.   
   
“Where’s home?” he asked clearly and oh, oh right.  Tim rattled off his address and frowned when Tony stared at him.  “That’s Navy housing. You’re in the Navy?” Tony asked like he really didn’t believe it.  
   
Tim made a face then felt guilty about it.  “My dad,” he said, wishing Tony would let him sit down. The grass looked comfy, he could sit down there and sleepy. 

“No, stay on your feet,” Tony said distractedly and then, “You don’t go here?”  
   
Tim started to shake his head then remembered that he shouldn’t.  “Next year,” he said even though he wasn’t planning to go _here_ next year at all. For some reason that made Tony smile.   
   
“You’re okay,” Tony said.  “I crashed some college parties when I was a senior, too.”  
   
Tim just blinked hopefully at Tony.  
   
“Really?” Tony asked, waving the hand not holding Tim up, “You’re pulling out the puppy dog eyes?  I don’t know you, you know, and you’re not cute.” Tim wanted to explain that he wasn’t trying to be cute but that was a little bit of lie; he’d always looked young for his age and he knew how to make it work. Tony sighed. “Okay, fine, give me your keys.”  
   
Tim baulked at the idea of handing over the keys to his beautiful new car but Tony stayed firm so Tim went along with it.  Then he took them back again. “Wait,” he said, while Tony’s fingers clenched sadly around where the keys had been. “Cecile.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You named your car?”

“No,” Tim scoffed even though yes, he’d named his car. He wasn’t telling Tony what she was called though. “Cecile’s my…” friend? No, she wasn’t his friend. She wasn’t his girlfriend either. “I’m her ride.”

“Seriously?” Tony asked. He let go of Tim so he could raise both hands to the sky. Tim swayed. Apparently Tony needed two hands to rage against the unfairness of the world. “Seriously?” He lowed his voice and looked at Tim. “Do you know what I could be doing right now?” 

Tim shook his head. 

“I have the telephone number of a brand new Israeli exchange student. My night was supposed to consist of a little partying, a little flirting, then a little bit of_teaching her English_, if you get my drift.” Tim was drunk but he wasn’t dumb; he got Tony’s drift. “Instead, I’m going to go back in there, rescue some high school girl I don’t know for a high school boy I also don’t know, and then I’m going to drive them home. This is not the life of a DiNozzo, you know?”

“Sorry?” Tim asked, but Tony just flapped him quiet. 

He took the keys back from Tim and unlocked the car, helping Tim fit himself into the passenger seat. “Sit here and don’t move,” he said and then _locked Tim in the car_.

Tim blinked. “Um,” he said, banging feebly on the window.

Tony grinned. “Stay,” he said and turned back toward the house. 

“Hmm,” Tim said to himself, watching Tony until he disappeared from view. If Tim had just gotten locked in here as some kind of weird hazing thing, he’d-. Well, he’d probably just pass out and wake up really embarrassed in the morning, actually.

His dashboard was surprisingly comfortable; he wondered why they hadn’t advertised that as a design feature. It felt nice and firm under his wobbly-feeling brain and he thought if he just rested his forehead against it for a while, it might not let him fall. 

Tim woke with a start when a door slammed. He sat up, letting out a feeble “Ow!” when a sharp headache smacked him between the eyes and told him not to move that fast. 

Tony was settling in the driver’s seat. He had to roll the seat back to accommodate his long legs, but not by much; Tim was totally growing _all the time_. “Sorry, sleepyhead,” he said, “Did I wake you?” His grin said that he knew he had. 

“No,” Tim said, just to be awkward; he worried that he maybe just came across as petulant. He turned his head cautiously to look in the back. “Where’s Cecile?”

Tony didn’t answer for a minute, apparently preoccupied with running his hands over the overhead consul, turning the headlights on then off then on again and grinning like Sarah did on Christmas morning. “She’s fine,” he said, swiveling the radio towards himself then back to Tim and looking a lot like he wanted to say_whee!_

“But where-?”

Tony held up a finger. “You like this girl, right? Trust me when I say you’ll be happier not knowing.”

“We can’t just leave her here,” Tim protested. He’d driven Cecile here; he was responsible for taking her home. 

Tony put his hand on Tim’s shoulder, stopping him before his plan to get out of the car and find Cecile could materialise past an embarrassing amount of fumbling with the door lock. “Kid. Tim. It’s Tim, right?” 

Tim nodded. “Tim McGee.” Tony should know his full name if he was going to hold Tim prisoner in his own car. 

“Timmy McGee,” Tony said. “Your girlfriend is fine. In fact from what I saw she’s _really_fine. She was hanging with my man Grant; he’ll take care of her.”

Tim made a face. Stupid Surprise Boyfriend Grant, he thought grumpily and didn’t realise he’d said it aloud until Tony laughed and punched him in the thigh.

“You’re funny, kid,” he said which didn’t explain why he felt the need to hit Tim, but whatever. Tim was sleepy and Tony was putting the car in gear.

“You’re sure she’s okay?” Tim asked again. This really wasn’t how his night was supposed to end. He hadn’t let himself indulge in any fantasies of hooking up with Cecile or anything but he’d thought maybe, just maybe, he’d get his first kiss.

“She’s fine,” Tony said then blasted a hole in Tim’s self pity by turning the radio on and then way, _way_ up. 

“Do you mind?” Tim asked, letting his head clunk against the window. There were going to be weird forehead prints on the glass tomorrow and it was going to take him hours to wipe them away, he knew, but right now he couldn’t care.

“Nope,” Tony told him, flashing him a wide, shit-eating grin. After another block, he did turn down the radio though. “Now, click your heels and tell me how to get you home, McGale.”

Tim gave him directions then closed his eyes and slumped back into his seat. Watching the road was making him feel sick again. 

Sadly, that didn’t help. It turned out the suspension was really no where near as good when you felt like your insides were trying to eat your outsides.  He giggled suddenly.  
   
“What?” Tony asked, a little bit suspiciously like he thought Tim might be secretly crazy.   
   
“I feel like John Hurt in _Alien_,” he said and Tony laughed, which was good; Tim never knows when he was citing legitimate pop culture and when he was just being a geek.   
   
“Dude,” Tony said, reaching over the gear shift to pat Tim’s knee, “I promise if anything comes bursting out your chest, I will let you know.”  
   
Satisfied, Tim closed his eyes again.  “Thank you,” he said and he meant it.  
   
***  
   
Tim had no idea what time it was when they pulled up to the base. He’d been dozing but he had to wake up and produce his pass when Tony elbowed him.

“Very 007,” Tony muttered, sounding impressed.

It probably wasn’t that late; it felt like a lot of stuff had happened really quickly at that damn party. Luckily, the lights were out when they reached his house so hopefully his mom wasn’t waiting up. He was feeling a little less out of control drunk, but he didn’t think he was okay enough to get by her. 

“This one?” Tony asked, turning off the engine.

“Yeah,” Tim said and then blinked when Tony hopped out of the car.

“Come on, kid,” Tony said, opening Tim’s door for him. 

Confused, Tim got out the car then suddenly really, really appreciated Tony’s foresight when the ground tipped away under him and only Tony’s hand under his arm kept him on his feet.

“Yeah, you’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow,” Tony said, a smile in his voice like this was a game or like Tim’s poor, rapidly dehydrating and probably shrinking brain was funny.

“I’ll drink water,” Tim declared. That would help. There was no way that Tim was getting a hangover; he wasn’t the type of kid who spent Saturdays miserable in bed with hangovers and he suspected that hungover would be a bad look on him.

“Maybe if you drink the Mississippi,” Tony agreed. Or, maybe that wasn’t agreeing. Maybe he was mocking Tim again.

“Are you mocking me?” Tim asked suspiciously, letting Tony help him up the porch steps that led to his front door. 

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. “Not even a little bit,” he said, then apparently changed his mind because he amended it to, “Well, maybe a little bit. Now, tell me you have door keys?”

“Front pocket,” Tim said then thought about the logistics of that. He had one arm over Tony’s shoulders and that one needed to stay or he was going to fall down. He was using his other hand to grip the front door jam and that one needed to stay or he was going to fall forward through his front door, which was made of glass and would hurt. “Um.”

Tony sighed. He propped Tim up against the door, which, oh, that was nice. Stability was good. “For the record, I’m not feeling you up. That would be really unclassy,” Tony muttered, seemingly talking under his breath rather than to Tim. 

His hand slipped into Tim’s front pocket, big and warm through the thin layer of lining separating it from Tim’s thigh and that was nice, very nice. Tim didn’t get a chance to contemplate how nice before it was gone again.

“Success,” Tony declared, waving the keys in front of Tim’s face. Tim wrinkled his nose when the tip of one key brushed it and Tony laughed. 

Tony unlocked the door for him, catching Tim before he could fall backwards through it and that was when Tim realised something.

“How are you going to get home?” he asked. Tony was a half hour drive from campus now. Tim really should have thought of that before.

Tony shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.  I can hitch a ride home.” He didn’t look bothered but Tim watched TV; hitchhiking was a bad idea.  
   
Tim didn’t really plan to do it, but he found himself pressing the car keys back into Tony’s hands.  “Drive home,” he said, “You came all this way.  I can come get her tomorrow.”  
   
Tony’s fingers smoothed lovingly over the keys, but, “Are you sure?” he asked.  “I should probably warn you that when I don’t have a queasy McGeesy in the passenger side, I drive way faster.”  
   
Tim felt a pang for his poor car, but not enough to overcome how bad he’d feel if Tony got murdered after taking him home.  “Don’t crash her,” he warned, raising a slightly unsteady finger to point at Tony as firmly as he could.   
   
Tony grinned and flicked Tim’s finger.  “Later Timothy McGee,” he said, bouncing the keys in his hand all the way down the drive.

***

When Tim opened his eyes, he thanked god that today was Saturday.  His head was pounding and his stomach felt heavy: acidic and just wrong.   
   
He moaned softly to himself, rolling over and trying to go back to sleep. Lying on his stomach turned out to be a really bad plan and by the time he’d discovered that, he was awake. Awake and kind of twitchy, like the alcohol had woken up too and was doing a jig in his veins.  It was weird.

Tim crawled out of bed and dragged himself to the bathroom, first checking that his mom wasn’t lurking in the hallway. He ignored Sarah who was kneeling in the bedroom doorway, making her GI Joe dolls scale the heights of the radiator.  Tim knew from experience that she was going to make them fall any minute so they could break their legs and her Barbie dolls could swoop in to rescue them.  
   
“It’s nearly lunch time,” Sarah told him like sleeping in that late was the worst thing in the world.  Tim just ignored her all the harder.  
   
The bathroom smelled of his mom’s lime shower gel, tart and refreshing and it helped to clear his head. He pushed open the window to let some fresh air in then ran the shower as hot as he could. He stood under the spray until he was too dizzy to stand any more, then he sat in the tub, knees drawn up to protect his roiling stomach and let the water pound against the back of his neck until he finally, finally felt like he might not be in imminent danger of death.

His mom was in the back yard when he got down to the kitchen, which was good; if she’d been out back all morning, she hopefully hadn’t noticed that his car wasn’t in the drive.  
   
Cereal wasn’t exactly tempting but he forced down a couple of spoonfuls of Captain Crunch and was half way through his second mug of coffee when the doorbell chimed.   
   
“I’ll get it!” Sarah yelled and Tim listened to her pounding down the stairs, wincing at the ache it woke in his head.   
   
He heard her open the door, then silence, then he heard her yell “Mom!” loud and shrill.

She sounded frightened and Tim only stopped long enough to bang on the window to get his mom’s attention before he ran down the hall after her.    
   
There were two men in Navy uniform standing in their doorway: a captain and a sergeant.  Tim didn’t know either of them and, anyway, it was too early for a social call. 

“Mom,” Tim called too, stopping right behind Sarah, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder and then his mom was there, her hand tightening around Tim’s, so they were all connected while they faced the sailors down.  
   
“Come in,” she told them. The last time Tim had heard her sound that brittle and controlled was when her sister had called to tell her their mother had died.

Tim clenched his hand around his mom’s, probably too tight but she didn’t react. Okay, he thought, wrapped up in a calm that even he could tell was fake. Okay, so his dad was dead.

***  
   
Tim’s dad wasn’t dead.

The men sitting on the sofa were here to tell them that his unit was missing.  Not killed, not injured but missing after enemy action.   
   
Captain Booth was sitting at a respectful distance from Tim’s mom, body twisted toward her, body language oozing sympathy while he said things like 'fine officer' and 'extraction team' and 'doing all we can'. Tim’s mom was nodding, keeping her chin up and her eyes dry.  

Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs was kneeling on the floor to talk to Sarah, saying the same kind of things but with smaller words. He kept looking up at Tim, trying to engage him in the conversation but Tim was busy staring blankly over his head and gritting his teeth so he didn’t embarrass his mom by crying.  

“Tim,” his mom said eventually and Tim jumped. “Could you make some coffee, please?

Right, Tim thought, coffee. He’d just been drinking coffee and then this. He’d been at a party last night, making a fool of himself while his dad had been in danger.

In the kitchen, Tim got down four mugs then flipped on the coffee maker. It hissed at him angrily and he cursed and switched it off. He’d forgotten to add the water.

“Want me to do that?” a gruff voice asked behind Tim and Tim turned to find Sergeant Gibbs looking between him and the coffee maker with a badly disguised expression of horror. 

“I can do it,” Tim said, but he didn’t object when Gibbs took the coffee grounds from his hands and started to measure out spoonful after spoonful. “That’s too much,” Tim said, but Gibbs just looked at him.

“Trust me,” he said, “You can never have too much coffee.”

Tim nodded then folded his arms while they waited for the coffee to percolate. Tim didn’t know what to say but for once that didn’t bother him; he was too busy trying to ignore the screaming in his head. His imagination was too good, his mom had always said. He didn’t know how an imagination could be too good, but right now he wished he couldn’t see over and over again what had most likely happened to his dad.

“Your father is a good man,” Gibbs told him.

“Do you know him?” Tim’s dad had never mentioned Gibbs, and he always told Tim about the men and women he worked with.

Gibb’s hummed. “I’ve met him.” Apparently that was that or so Tim thought until he was adding cream to his mom’s coffee and Gibb’s put a hand on Tim’s forearm. “You need to be strong for your mom, son,” he said.

“I am,” Tim told him, kneejerk. Gibbs had called him ‘son but he was talking to him like a man and Tim felt himself respond to that, standing up a little bit straighter.

“I know.” Gibbs nodded. “You got anyone you can call? It helps to have someone being brave for you too.”

“Yeah.” Tim had Abby; he’d call her later. 

Gibbs clapped him on the back. “I’ve got a daughter,” he told Tim. “She’s six, about your sister’s age. If anything happened to me, I’d want to know there was someone looking out for her and her mom.”

Tim swallowed and nodded. “I’m okay,” he said. He was. He was going to have to be.

***

After Gibbs and Booth left, Sarah gave up her stoic act and crawled onto the sofa and into their mom’s lap. Tim wished he was still young enough to do that.

Tim stood around uselessly for a while, biting his lip sp he wouldn’t say something stupid about how his dad had promised he wouldn’t go to war again and then he had. He couldn’t say that though, because his mom was being so strong; Tim couldn’t let himself hurt her.

Instead, he went outside to phone Abby. It rang to voicemail so he tried her home number instead. It clicked over to the Telephone Relay Service which meant one of her parents was going to answer instead.

“I’m sorry,” the relay operator told Tim. “Abby is bowling with her nuns.” She sounded like she really wanted to ask if she’d read that right, but she wasn’t allowed to do that.

“Thanks,” Tim told her and hung up. 

Back inside he could hear that his mom and Sarah were still talking softly in the living room so Tim went up to his room and stared blankly at his ceiling. He wished he could have talked to Abby. She’d feed him good, comforting lines to say to Sarah.

After a while, he remembered what Gibbs had said and he told himself to grow up and clomped back down the stairs. “Mom,” he said, walking into the living room. “Should I start calling people?”

His mom looked nothing but relieved by his offer. It was good to have something to distract himself with, he decided.

***

By the next day, Tim had run out of things to distract himself with.

He’d called his grandparents, his aunts and uncles; he still hadn’t called Abby but he told himself that that was only because he didn’t want to ruin her weekend. Not because he’d had enough of saying the words “Dad’s missing.”

He’d gotten up this morning, stared for a while at his dad’s empty place at the table then gone back to his room. 

Right now, he was lying on his bed, seeing if he could draw a logarithmic spiral between the cracks on the ceiling, when the doorbell rang again. Tim sat up but didn’t go downstairs. It was probably one of the other wives, coming to check on his mom and, if it wasn’t, Tim didn’t want to know.  
   
“Tim?” his mom called after a minute and he got up reluctantly, walking to the top of the stairs. He’d promised to be strong, but he honestly wasn’t sure he could take it if it was more bad news.

It wasn’t more bad news, it was Tony DiNozzo from the other night, standing in Tim’s hallway in a short brown leather jacket and tight jeans and oh crap, Tim had forgotten all about his car.

“Crap,” Tim said and Tony grinned.

“Hey, Frosh,” he said, giving Tim’s mom a really unnecessarily charming smile before bounding up the stairs. “Feeling better?” he asked, when he was close enough for Tim’s mom not to overhear.

“What?” Tim asked, then realised that he hadn’t just forgotten his car; he’d forgotten his hangover. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He sounded too blunt but couldn’t stop himself.

He led Tony into his room then shut the door. “Sorry I didn’t come by for the car,” he said, trying and failing to meet Tony’s eye. He really didn’t feel like being sociable right now.  
   
“Is everything okay?” Tony asked, tossing Tim’s car keys from hand to hand.  
   
Tim shrugged.  “Yeah,” he said, lied.  
   
“Okay,” Tony said, dragging the word out and bouncing a little bit awkwardly on his feet.  “I’ll be going then.  Here are your keys.”  
   
Tim watched him turn away and suddenly felt so lonely it made him ache.  “Sorry,” he said quickly.  “Sorry, you just caught us on a bad day.”  
   
Tony turned around and nodded, still backing toward the door.  “Sure thing,” he said like it didn’t matter and maybe it didn’t to him, Tim wasn’t anything to him. Tony scuffed his feet along the carpet.  He lifted his head and smiled slightly.  “I mean, I was going to ask you to give me a ride home, but that doesn’t matter.”  
   
Tim shook his head quickly.  “Yes,” he said, surprising himself.  “Yes, I’ll-.  I’ll drive you home.” He really wanted to get out of the house all of a sudden.  
    
***  
   
They drove in silence for a couple of miles and Tim felt himself slowly start to unwind as the engine vibrated under his feet.  

He stopped at the light before the turn for the freeway that would take them back to Tony’s campus.  “Do you maybe want to hang out?” he heard himself asking which, wow, was not something he’d ever asked anyone who wasn’t Abby or Jimmy before.  
   
He completely expected Tony to say no because he was in college and Tim really… wasn’t, but Tony just nodded easily and said, “Sure, let’s get lunch,” and “You buying?”  
   
They went for pancakes at the diner because Tim couldn’t afford much else and Tony said, “breakfast food for lunch!” like it was the best thing ever.  
   
“Oh man, I love this place,” Tony said, bouncing into the diner and throwing himself down into a booth like he owned the place. The waitress who’d been moving over to seat them just shook her head and went to pick up some menus.

“What can I get you boys?” she asked and Tim suddenly realised that he was starving. He’d barely eaten at all yesterday and Friday night he’d thrown up everything he’d ever eaten before that.

“Well, Mandy,” Tony said, leaning way too far across the booth so he could read her nametag, “I’d like the breakfast with everything and my friend’ll have-. What are you having, Frosh?”

“Don’t call me Frosh,” Tim muttered, sinking deeper into the plush vinyl cushion behind him. He tried to smile at Mandy like Tony had but knew he’d failed when she got the _aww, cute_ expression on her face that all women got when they looked at Tim. “I’ll have the same, please.”

“Sure thing, angel,” Mandy said and honest to god _ruffled his hair_.

Tim sunk down lower. Tony probably ruptured something laughing at him.

“So, my high school friend,” Tony said once the food had arrived. He leaned forward, nearly putting his elbow in the pancakes that he’d just finished drowning in maple syrup. “Good to see Friday night didn’t kill you. I’ve got to say I’m impressed you’re not grounded for the rest of forever.”

Tim shrugged. “I don’t think my mom knows I went out,” he admitted, except that sounded really bad and made her sound like a shitty parent which she really was not. “There’s been some stuff happening.”

“Stuff?” Tony asked, gaze sharpening like he was actually interested. If he’d stayed lazy and laconic, Tim might have found it easier to tell him.

He let himself shrug again even though his dad said it was bad for his posture. He shut down all thoughts about his dad. “Yeah, you know. _Stuff_.”

“Wow, I’m blown away by your eloquence, Wordy McWordsworth.”

Tim knew Tony was joking, he _did_, but he was out of his depth here, tired and messed up about his dad and guilty that he hadn’t stayed home to look out for his mom like he’d promised Sergeant Gibbs. “My dad’s MIA,” he snapped, then wished he hadn’t when Tony’s face fell.  
   
“Oh, shit,” Tony said and he was serious again. He leaned heavily across the table, sliding his hands a little way across the vinyl like he would have reached out to touch Tim if only they’d known each other for more than five seconds.  “Where?”  
   
“Iraq.” Said like a peace offering even though it was the most unlikeliest of peace offerings ever.

Tony opened his mouth then closed it again, like he had no idea what he should say. 

“It’s okay,” Tim told him, cutting his pancakes into smaller bites, then turning his plate a quarter-turn and starting to cut each piece in half again. He’d lost his appetite. “Really, Tony. He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Tony said slowly then, more firmly, “_Yeah_. Of course.” 

Tim drummed his fingers on the table. “Eat your pancakes,” he advised, because Tony starving himself wasn’t going to bring Tim’s dad back. Neither would Tim starving himself, obviously, but he still couldn’t make himself eat.

He watched Tony eat and pretended not to notice that Tony glanced across at his own unmoving hands every couple of bites. Tim let his eyes half close, trying to recapture the calm he’d felt earlier, when they’d been driving.  
   
“Hey.” Tony kicked his ankle and Tim’s head jerked up.   
   
“Ow,” he said.  
   
“You okay there, cowboy?” Tony asked, ignoring Tim’s yelp of pain.  His fork started to creep towards Tim’s plate.  “Are you going to eat that bacon?”  
   
It was hardwired into Tim to protect his food at all costs – unexpectedly acquiring a baby sister when you’re ten will do that to a person – so he said, “Yes!” and wolfed down his bacon even though ten seconds ago he would have said he couldn’t eat.  
   
The bacon was dry and burnt at the edges but it reminded him that he was hungry and in the end the pancakes ended up going really, really quickly.   
   
“Wow,” Tony said, watching him appreciatively. “I’ve never seen anyone eat that fast since the last time I looked in a mirror.”  
   
“That makes no sense,” Tim told him around his last mouthful.  “You watch yourself eat in the mirror?”  
   
“Of course I have,” Tony admitted, not looking particularly embarrassed.  “First rule of dating, Frosh, is to make sure that when you go on dates you only eat food that you look good eating.”  
   
Interesting. Or, well, not interesting, but distracting. “So pancakes?” he prompted.  
   
“Are fine.  Spaghetti, salads, anything that still has its eyeballs? Not fine.”  
   
Tim nodded sagely.  “I will remember that,” he promised seriously and tried not to laugh because he knew Tony was trying to cheer him up.  In his own weird way.  
   
***  
   
They finished eating, Tony mocked Tim some more, Tony tried to score Mandy’s number and got shot down leading to the perfect excuse for Tim to mock Tony right back and then it was back to reality.

Tony’s frat house looked less towering and momentous in daylight but Tim still wasn’t in a hurry to go back inside.

“So, be seeing you,” Tony said, half-glancing back at Tim as he opened the passenger side door. It was almost a question, but Tim couldn’t decide if it was hopeful or apprehensive. Why it would be helpful, he couldn’t think.

“Sure, if you like,” he agreed casually and apparently that was the right thing to say because Tony walked around the car and leaned against Tim’s window until Tim rolled it down.

“So, hey,” Tony said.  He handed Tim a scrap of paper.  “Here’s my number, in case you, you know, have any questions about how to be an awesome, superstud student or something.”  
   
“Thanks, Tony,” Tim said, surprised but genuinely pleased.  
   
“Call any time but you’re taking a risk if you pick Friday nights.”  Tony waggled his eyebrows meaningful.  
   
Reluctantly, Tim asked, “Why?”  
   
“Because Friday nights are the nights even the bookish girls come out to play.  You ever played with a bookish girl, Timmy?”  
   
“No,” Tim said gruffly, annoyed when he felt himself blush.   
   
Tony fanned himself and grinned.  “Smart girls are h-o-t,” he said appreciatively, turning away from Tim with a dorky little salute that he somehow managed to make look cool. Tim watched as Tony sauntered up the drive with a sway in his step.  
   
***  
   
Tim felt better on the drive back home, calmer in his head than he had before and he managed to maintain that calm all the way home and through the front door.

“Tim?” his mom called before he was even all the way through the door.

Tim abandoned his plan to call Abby and instead made his way to the living room where, oh. Abby was sitting on the floor playing Lego with Sarah.

“I was just about to call you,” Tim said before she could yell at him.

Abby bounced to her feet and flung her arms around him. “I’m so mad at you for not letting me do this earlier,” she exclaimed in his ear, “Now I owe you a whole day of comfort hugs.”

Tim let himself laugh even though it felt all wrong to laugh around his mom at the moment; her face was so set and worried, even when she tried to smile. “I think I’ll cope,” he told Abby.

Abby smacked him. “You will not. Stand still and accept your hugs like a man, McGee.”

So Tim stayed where he was, letting Abby hug him. It felt kind of awkward until his mom left the room, murmuring something about coffee, then he relaxed into Abby, pressing his face into her shoulder, not for the first time glad that they were almost the same height.

Abby’s arms tightened around him. “It’s going to be fine,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed by rote. He’d gotten used to agreeing to that; all the aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins he’d called yesterday had said the same thing.

“Sorry,” Abby said, letting him go and eyeing him critically with her hands on her hips. “I bet you’ve heard that a lot.”

Tim shrugged. “A little bit. It’s okay.” In fact, the only person who hadn’t said it, had been Tony. Tony hadn’t really talked about Tim’s dad at all once Tim had made it clear he didn’t want to. It had been pretty nice. “Let’s go upstairs,” he suggested, wanting to keep himself distracted.

Abby waggled her eyebrows. “Tim, your mother already thinks we have a thing.”

“A thing?” Tim asked. 

“Yeah.” Abby leaned in, black painted nails closing around Tim’s arm, hair brushing his shoulder. “A sex thing.”

Tim spluttered. “What? No. No, she doesn’t.”

Abby just grinned. “We’re going to go up to Tim’s room now, Mrs. McGee,” Abby called through to the kitchen. Her words were totally innocent but she’d made Tim paranoid enough that he still felt himself blush. Great. 

Up in Tim’s room, Abby lay down on Tim’s bed and patted the comforter beside her. “C’mon, Tim.”

“Uh, Abby?” Tim hesitated. “You know we don’t actually have a sex thing, right?” There’d been a time when Tim would not have been averse to having a sex thing with Abby, but that time was way over. He couldn’t think of anything more awkward than having sex with someone who knew him as well as Abby did.

Abby rolled her eyes. “Shocking,” she said sarcastically, “That had completely slipped my mind. No, lie down here and tell me things.”

“I don’t want to talk about my dad,” Tim said immediately. Still, he toed off his shoes obediently and sat on the edge of the bed. 

Abby tugged at him. “So tell me about where you were this afternoon, instead. There was a definite spring in your step when you came up the drive. You almost had bounce.”

Tim didn’t blush again; he just hadn’t stopped blushing from the last time. “I did not have bounce.” Tim didn’t bounce. He walked with purpose and poise. Or maybe he shuffled kind of awkwardly. Either way, he didn’t bounce. 

“I had lunch with a friend,” he said casually, dropping back onto the bed to lie beside her because she’d only end up using force to make him if he didn’t.

“Girl friend?” Abby asked, rolling onto her side.

“No,” Tim said like the idea was insane. Considering the only girl he’d successfully dated was Abby (with values for successful equaling, she was still talking to him) the idea basically _was_ insane.

“Boy friend?” 

Great, Tim might as well resign himself to staying beet red. “_No_.” He’d never confirmed to Abby that he liked boys as well as girls. She’d just kind of landed on the idea and run with it and he’d never bothered to confirm or deny.

“You’re blushing.” She poked his cheek.

“Am not.” He made a half-hearted attempt to bite off her finger. “He’s just this guy I met at the party on Friday. I left my car there so he brought it back for me.”

“And then took you to lunch?” she prompted.

“I took him,” Tim began then waved his hands, trying to ctrl+z that. “I wanted to get out of the house so we had lunch. He made me pay.”

“Hmm,” Abby said. Tim didn’t ask her what it meant, because he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.

***  
   
School on Monday went pretty much how Tim had been expecting. The kids who lived on base or had parents who worked at Alameda avoided him. The ones who didn’t looked at him sideways but didn’t talk to him. 

Really, it was better than a normal Monday, since there was no one bumping him into walls or looming threateningly while he tried to use the bathroom. Apparently even bullies felt bad when someone’s father went MIA.

Toby Vigar, a junior, the son of Lieutenant Vigar from Tim’s dad’s unit, met Tim’s eye in the lunchroom. He nodded and Tim nodded back. That was apparently that.

“Are you okay, Tim?” Jimmy asked, sliding his tray onto the table next to Tim’s.

“Yeah,” Tim said but he shoved his tray away.

He had AP math after lunch so he got there early. Not because he was hiding or anything, because he absolutely wasn’t. It was just that he’d had an idea for a story for the school magazine and he wanted to get it down.

He kept his head down as the rest of the class filed in, frantically scribbling to get down the rest of the sentence before-. “Mr. McGee?”

Tim jumped, reluctantly sliding his notebook under his math workbook. “Sorry,” he mumbled to the teacher.

She shook her head at him then went back to the front of the classroom. 

Tim was good at math and he usually enjoyed it but today he couldn’t keep his head in the classroom. When he wasn’t staring out the window, he was looking around the room. He felt restless and edgy; he wanted to be anywhere but here, he wanted to be back in his car, driving nowhere for hours and hours.

“Timothy.”

Tim jumped. “Sorry,” he said again. Great, his mom did not need him getting a detention. Actually, he didn’t need himself getting a detention either; he’d never had one before.

His teacher didn’t look mad though. She was waving a pink slip of paper. “Principal Vance wants to see you,” she told him and oh, god. Tim shoved to his feet clumsily. He heard his chair tip over and turned around to pick it up but a kid who had never bothered to speak to him before got there first, waving Tim off.

There were only a couple of corridors between Tim’s math classroom and the principal’s office, but Tim felt like he’d been walking a hundred miles and still hadn’t gotten anywhere, like his feet were made of lead.

Then the office door was looming up in front of him and he wished it had taken longer. Principal Vance was gong to tell him that his dad was dead and Tim didn’t think he was ready for that.  
   
“Tim,” the principal said.  Tim didn’t think he’d ever called him by his first name before.  “Sit down.”  
   
“I’d rather stand, sir,” he told him because if his dad had taught him nothing else, he’d taught him how to take bad news like a soldier.   
   
Vance nodded then he stood up to face Tim and then he said, “Your father is being airlifted to Ramstein.”  
   
Tim locked his knees so he didn’t sit down without a chair. “Is he hurt?” He cleared his throat.  “Injured.  Is he injured?”  
   
“He was shot, but he’ll be fine.” He smiled slightly.  “He was very lucky.”   
   
***

The school sent Tim and Toby Vigar home to be with their families. They were the only kids on the bus at that time of day but Tim sat at the front and Toby sat at the back, so it was back to business as usual.

Tim’s mom was on the phone when Tim walked through the door and she waved him down. “It’s dad,” she said, eyes shining. “It’s Tim,” she told the phone. She waved Tim toward the study. “Pick up the other line.”

So Tim did, curling up in his dad’s big desk chair, with the receiver pressed to his ear while he listened to his dad tell them what had to be the most condensed war story ever. He managed to make getting captured and imprisoned for forty-eight hours sound like the most boring thing in the world and Tim knew that he was just trying to spare their feelings, but he still wanted to know what had really happened.

After a while, someone must have given Sarah a ride home because she came in and climbed up onto Tim’s lap, pressing her cheek against his so she could hear too.

“Dad,” Tim heard himself interrupting. “Sarah wants to talk to you.”

Sarah took the receiver with eager, grabby hands and Tim half listened while she told their dad how she’d prayed to Santa to bring him home. Tim smiled; he knew he was right to let her watch _Dr Who_.

Sarah started to cry the minute she finished talking to their dad, her face pressed into Tim’s sweatshirt so their dad wouldn’t hear. Tim hugged her hard while he and his dad shared their own more stilted version of a reunion conversation.

“Take care of yourself, Tim,” his dad said to finish and “Yeah,” Tim agreed and, “Sure,” before putting the phone back into its cradle. He wished he’d been able to find the words to tell his dad that it wasn’t only Sarah who’d been scared.

Sarah was asleep, draped across Tim’s lap and Tim sighed but didn’t try to move her. He could hear his mom walking around upstairs, probably pacing like she did when when she was trying not to cry. At least it’d be happy crying, Tim thought, and wanted to tell her to go right ahead; it’d make up for how he still couldn’t feel anything at all.

Wriggling around carefully, Tim got two fingers into his back pocked and pulled out the scrunched up piece of paper Tony had given him yesterday.  
   
“DiNozzo,” Tony answered and that was such a stupid way for a college kid to answer the phone that Tim couldn’t help but smile.  
   
“My dad’s okay,” he said rather than _hi_ or this is _Tim McGee, you probably don’t remember me_.    
   
“Tim?” Tony said and Tim was embarrassed by how relieved he was that Tony did remember him.  
   
“Yeah, sorry, I should have said.”

Tony made a _pshaw_ sound like it didn’t matter. “Your dad’s okay?”

“Yeah, he’s-.” Tim had to stop suddenly, take a minute to take a breath and pinch the bridge of his nose. Jeez, how embarrassing. “He’s coming home soon.”

“Hey, man, that’s great.”

Tim nodded, even though Tony couldn’t see him, focusing on breathing and not having some kind of delayed emotional breakdown right here and now. 

“So you would not believe what I saw today,” Tony said filling the dragging silence. 

Tim made a sound like he wanted to know.

“A human condom. Oh, yes, my friend,” Tony continued when Tim let out an unexpected laugh, “These are the things you have to look forward to at college.”

Tim checked that Sarah was still asleep before resting his chin in his hand and asking, “A human condom. Seriously?”

They talked for a while. For nearly an hour, actually, until Sarah woke up and stared up at Tim with big, red eyes. 

“I’m tired,” she said. 

Tim hadn’t heard a sound from his mom for a while so, “Okay,” he said, “I’ll put you to bed.”

On the other end of the phone line, Tony spluttered. “You’ll what now, McGee?”

Tim laughed, embarrassed and trying to brush it off. “Sorry, I was talking to my sister. I’ve got to go.” He wanted to say _thanks for being there_, but he didn’t want to sound lame.

He expected Tony to be relieved that he could get back to whatever he’d been doing, but Tony surprised him by objecting. “Hey, we weren’t finished.  Call me back after?”  
   
“Um, yeah,” Tim agreed, surprised. “I will.”  
   
***  
   
Tim yawned his way through school the next day and by the time they were in the diner after last period, Abby had started elbowing him the minute he opened his mouth.

“Jeez, Timmy, what’s the matter with you?” she asked, shoving her Caf Pow at him. 

Tim stared from the Caf Pow to Abby and back. “You’re sharing your Caf Pow?” he asked. Jimmy’s eyes bugged out.

Abby held up a finger. “One sip,” she warned, “Just one. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Tim took his one sip, very, very careful not to make it more than that then passed it back to her. She was starting to look twitchy. “I’m okay,” he said, “I’m great. I was talking on the phone a bit last night, that’s all.” He’d talked to Tony until way past midnight and he still had no idea how they’d managed that; they’d mostly talked about cars and movies.

Abby’s expression softened immediately. “To your dad?” she asked.

Tim almost went with it, except it felt like really bad luck to tell lies involving his dad until his dad was safely back home. “No, just a friend.”

“I thought we were your friends,” Jimmy asked. 

“Your college friend again?” Abby interrupted, leaning forward. 

“It’s not-. He just wants to drive my car again, that’s all.” Tim knew what she was thinking but it wasn’t like that.

“Mmhmm,” Abby hummed. “He wants to drive something, for sure.”

Tim wasn’t drinking anything, but he still managed to choke while Jimmy said, “What? Drive what? _Oh_.”

***

Tim had arranged to meet up with Tony after dinner but now he felt all kinds of awkward, Abby’s teasing still ringing in his ears.

He wasn’t sure if it made it more or less awkward that when Tim got to Tony’s frat house, there was a girl dressed in lycra standing on her head in the living room.  

“Um, hi?” Tim said uncertainly. He knew he should have waited for Tony in the hallway.

The girl opened her eyes and looked at him upside down for a while with a steady, unblinking gaze. Then she rolled to her knees and slid gracefully to her feet. "Hello."  She had a soft accent, something precise and careful about her consonants.  

“Hi. I’m, uh, I’m Tim. I’m just waiting for Tony.”

“My name is Ziva David,” she told him, offering her hand for a shake, which turned out to be very, very firm and left Tim’s eyes watering. “I know Tony. I help him with his math and in return he is teaching me English idiom and allowing me use of his floor space for my yoga.”

“Helping me with math,” Tony scoffed, appearing behind Tim and making him jump. “Like I need any help. Come on, Tim.” His hand was firm on Tim’s shoulder as he propelled him out of the room. Tim glanced back over his shoulder at Ziva; she rolled her eyes.

“Teaching her English idiom, huh?” Tim asked when they were out of the house. He wondered if he was the sort of guy who could get away with a teasing elbow dig. He decided he probably wasn’t. 

Tony laughed. “Sadly, that’s not even a euphemism, McDirtyMinded. Miss David is in a league of her own.”

“Do you like her?” Tim asked curiously. Not that it mattered to Tim. He just wondered. 

Tony made an awkward shrugging motion with his upper body. “She’s okay,” he said and Tim watched him closely, looking for some clue. He’d heard Tim talk about dozens girls and openly stare at a few more but he had no idea what Tony looked for in girls he actually _liked_.

“So, Frosh, how you doing?” Tony said, swinging himself in Tim’s car. Still distracted, Tim fumbled for any suitable reply and Tony looked at him weirdly. “Dude, you okay?”

Come on, Tim, get a grip, Tim thought furiously. “Yeah, sure,” he lied. “Hey, you want to drive?” That was what they were here for after all, so Tony could get up close and personal with Tim’s _car_ not with Tim.

Tony’s eyes lit up and he all but grabbed the keys out of Tim’s hand. “Oh hell, yes,” he said and swung himself over the handbrake into Tim’s half of the car. Tim blinked up at Tony who was _kneeling over him_ and honestly couldn’t think of anything to say.

“C’mon, Tim, move your ass,” Tony said, with a grin, kneeing Tim ungently in the thigh. 

Oh, Tim thought, Of course. He pushed Tony over to one side and got out the driver’s seat via the door like any sane person should. By the time Tim was in the passenger seat, Tony was cooing lovingly at Tim’s control panel.

“You’ve driven her before,” Tim reminded him.

“Yes,” Tony agreed, stroking the steering wheel in a really suggestive way, “But she’s missed me, haven’t you, baby.”

“You’re disturbing,” Tim told him, because he was. The fact that he was disturbing _and_ hot wasn’t really the point. Lots of people were hot; it didn’t mean Tim wanted to jump them. Abby really should keep her crazy ideas to herself; it would be much better for Tim’s sanity that way.

***

Tony kept up a running commentary to the car about how good she was, how much he enjoyed driving her, all the way to the highway, but he fell silent once he had space to really put his foot down.

Tim didn’t know where they were going and he didn’t really care. He thought that should probably bother him more than it did. 

“You’re not abducting me, are you?” he asked, because he thought he should probably check.

Tony glanced across at him for a second. “Sure,” he said, “Anywhere you want to go?”

“I don’t think the guy who’s getting kidnapped gets to choose,” Tim pointed out.

Tony laughed. “Yeah, point.” They were driving along the coast, the Pacific filling horizon. 

“Don’t you ever have to study?” Tim asked suddenly. He only saw Tony raise an eyebrow because he was looking at him. “I mean, you’re always free to drive my car or have lunch or-.” He trailed off, realising really, really belatedly that Tony had probably been making time for him, because Tim had been kind of a mess lately. “Sorry.”

Tony just laughed, shaking his head but apparently not offended. “Dude, I’m majoring in Physical Education. Mostly I go to the movies or play basketball and football when I’m not hanging out with whiny little high school seniors.”

“Hey,” Tim started to protest then shut up, still feeling bad. 

He watched the view passing out the window for a while more until Tony sighed and pulled up against the side of the road. “I guess I better get you back, yeah?”

Tim’s dad was due back tonight. He didn’t want to go; he felt stupidly nervous about seeing him. He didn’t realise he’d said that out loud until Tony frowned and turned to face him.

“You need to go home, dude. It’s your dad.”

Tim took a deep breath. Tony was right, of course he was right. “Yeah,” he agreed, “Yeah, I know.”

Tony beat a rhythm against the wheel with the heel of his hand. “If you’re free Saturday, a bunch of us are heading to this new bar in town.”

Tim hesitated. “Maybe,” he said. He didn’t say that there was no way anyone would serve him in a bar and that he didn’t have a fake ID.

Tony reached over and smacked him on the thigh. “Dude, seriously, think about it. Kate’s bringing some of her Kappa Alpha Theta friends. Pretty, pretty girls, McGee.”  
   
“I don’t need to hook up, Tony,” Tim told him, refusing to get flustered.

“Hmm,” Tony said, sounding unconvinced. He put the car in gear and swung them into an easy U-turn. He started humming along to the radio and Tim listened to that rather than the clamouring of his heart.

***  
   
When Tim arrived home, his dad’s car was in the drive, but he still didn’t let himself believe that his dad was really back until he saw him, sitting on the sofa next to Tim’s mom, with Sarah sitting at his feet, her chin propped on his knees and a giant smile on her face.

“Hi, dad,” Tim said, coming to a stuttering stop in the doorway. The part of him that was always seven years old and saw his dad as a hero wanted to run over and get a hug. He couldn’t even imagine what his dad’s face would like if he tried though.

“Tim.” His dad smiled. “Good to see you.”

Tim nodded. “You too, sir.”  
   
“Where were you?” his mom asked, a little bit of reproach in her voice. Tim didn’t think that was fair; he hadn’t known what time his dad was due home.  
   
“Out with friends,” Tim said evasively, because he didn’t think his parents would understand his friendship with Tony. And, anyway, it was private.  
   
“It’s fine,” Tim’s dad said again. He maneuvered himself slowly to his feet, one hand pressed against his side. “Come here, son,” he said.

Surprised, Tim did, amazed when his dad hugged him, hugging him back. His dad smelled like stale toothpaste and too much time on airplanes, but Tim didn’t care, finally feeling like he could breathe for the first time in weeks.  
   
***  
   
“Here,” Tony said, shoving a Pepsi under Tim’s nose. “No alcohol for you, right McPukey?” 

The girls sharing their booth with them laughed and Tim glowered at Tony. “You’re hilarious,” he snapped. 

(There’d been talk earlier about getting Tim a fake ID; then Tony had seen Tim’s driver’s licence. The conversation had gone something like this: “You’re _sixteen_? You said you were a senior.”

“I am a senior,” Tim protested. He’d kind of forgotten that Tony probably assumed he was eighteen. 

“You’re _sixteen_,” Tony repeated, the same intonation again and again. He’d been acting weird ever since.)  
   
“Hey, so, that girl at the bar was asking about you,” Tony told him, leaning in and lowering his voice. Apparently now that he’d gotten total strangers to laugh at Tim, Tim was forgiven for lying to him. 

“What girl?” Tim glanced up at the bar. There were three girls working the bar tonight. Two blondes and a brunette. None of them were looking Tim’s way. 

“See the really, really hot blonde? The one with the, uh, assets?”

“Yeah?” Yeah, Tim did. He wasn’t dead.

Tony laughed. “Yeah, not that one. Her brunette friend, though.”

The brunette girl was pretty, sure, but Tim shook his head. He would have shaken his head even if it _had_ been the super-hot blonde. “I’m not interested, Tony,” Tim told him, feeling tired. All he wanted to do was sit at their table and drink his soda and feel Tony’s thigh press up against his. 

He didn’t think it was all that much to ask for.

“Suit yourself,” Tony said, slouching further down in his seat. His thigh pressed hard against Tim’s for one long, warm second then he sat up abruptly, reaching for his beer. He fumbled the glass slightly.

Tim frowned, wanting to ask what was wrong. Before he could though, one of Kate’s Kappa Alpha Theta friends slipped from her seat to the one next to Tony’s, leaning in to talk quietly in his ear.

Tony’s face went slowly pink and it would have been funny if Tim hadn’t been able to see where this was going and that he was going to end up sitting here alone in less than three minutes.

In fact, it took four minutes and Tony did actually check with Tim first, only letting the girl drag him to the dance floor after Tim had promised him that he’d be fine here by himself.

Tim wasn’t sure if he’d expected Tony to be a good dancer or not. In fact, watching him, Tim couldn’t decide if he _was_ a good dancer or not. 

When Tim couldn’t convince himself it was okay to perv on Tony dancing any longer, he turned back to his soda. And found Ziva sitting in Tony’s vacated seat.

Tim tried not to squawk.  
   
Ziva tipped her head to one side and frowned at him.  “Do you not wish to dance?” she asked.  
   
Tim blinked. “Um, are you asking me-?” He shook his head.  “You’re not asking me.”  
   
Ziva smiled.  “I am not asking you,” she agreed.  She leaned over the table.  “Tony is a somewhat better dancer than I would have expected,” she confided.  
   
Tim smiled because yeah, once he’d gotten over his nerves, Tony was pretty good, a grace in his hips even when he was just grinding and oh, oh wow, he was grinding.  Tim really shouldn’t have looked back at the dance floor because Tony and the girl were pressed full length together, barely moving now and Tim felt his cock twitch because... well, he was sixteen, there didn’t need to be a because.    
   
As Tim watched, Tony’s hands slid down to the girl’s ass and wow, okay, now Tim was hard.  “I’m gonna go,” he said to Ziva, standing up too quickly.  “I’ll-.  Will you tell Tony bye from me?”

“Tim?” Ziva called after him, but Tim couldn’t stop.  
   
***  
   
Lying in bed that night, Tim didn’t need to think before he was sliding his hands into his pajama pants.  

There were no other images in his head except for Tony pressed up against that girl, their hips sliding and meeting and pressing and grinding, Tony’s hands squeezing handfuls of her ass, fingers digging in, solid and possessive and-. 

Tim shoved his wrist into his mouth giving himself something to bite down on, something to muffle his groans as he came.

***

It wasn’t like Tim hadn’t had friends before Tony. He’d always had friends, even when Jimmy was the only one. He’d never had a friend quite like Tony though.

It felt weird to call Tony his friend, even to himself. Tony was totally different from Tim; he was lazy and popular and kind of mean, but he was also loyal as hell and didn’t seem to have a problem hanging out a high school kid.

If Tim didn’t call Tony for a day or two, Tony was straight on the phone to him, asking when Tim’s car would be free to hang out.   
   
Predictably, Tim’s parents weren’t pleased.

“You need to study,” his dad told Tim, a couple of times a day, “Annapolis won’t take slackers.”

Tim bit his tongue hard so he wouldn’t tell his dad that he was not a fucking slacker. He could have graduated high school with his eyes shut by now. The Annapolis thing, he wasn’t touching.

***

“It’s not like I’ve changed my mind,” Tim explained, lying on Tony’s bed and pontificating at his ceiling. “No one’s ever asked if I want to join the damn Navy.”

“And you don’t?” Tony was sitting at his desk, finishing up a paper. They were supposed to have been driving tonight but apparently Tony _did_ occasionally have to do some work.

“I don’t.” Tim rolled over onto his stomach and sighed. “I got into Johns Hopkins,” he admitted. He hadn’t told anyone that yet. He probably wouldn’t have told Tony, if he’d thought Tony had been listening.

“Dude,” Tony said, spinning around in his chair. “Dude, that’s awesome. Congrats.” Apparently Tony _was_ listening.

Tim grinned. He’d been fighting not to do a victory dance since the acceptance letter had arrived. “Thanks.”

“Right,” Tony shoved away from his desk. “I am done, done, done.” He glanced out the window where it was pouring with rain. “Want to stay in?”

“All right,” Tim agreed, wondering if that meant he should actually _stay_ or was a nice way of telling him to go home.

Tony thumped his stereo, Usher blaring from the speakers. He threw himself down onto the bed next to Tim and oh, okay, apparently Tim was supposed to stay.

“You’re way too young to have to pick your future, anyway,” Tony told him, like that was that, Tony DiNozzo had spoken. 

“What about your future?” Tim asked. Tony was graduating this summer and Tim had no idea what he planned to do after. Tim didn’t let himself think about how, if he went to Johns Hopkins, he’d been leaving behind every person he’d ever convinced to like him.

Tony shrugged, looking away. “Yeah, I don’t know. I want to do something worthwhile, you know? My dad’s kind of-.” He waved a hand. “We don’t really talk.”

Tim sat up and folded his legs in front of himself. “I can’t wait to be an adult,” he admitted.

Tony made a face. “It’s not that great.”

“Yeah,” Tim told him, laughing, “It’s cute that you think you’re adult.”

Tony made an incoherent sound, grabbing Tim by the shoulders and wrestling him down onto the bed. “You little punk,” he laughed, rolling on top of Tim and pinning him. 

Now, Tim was wrestling champion for his school, he could easily have flipped Tony off. He wasn’t that good a person though; Tony’s thighs were solid and tight around Tim’s hips.

“Ha!” Tony scoffed. “Now who’s the man?”

Tim wasn’t sure who was the man. He was definitely something though, something that he really hoped Tony wouldn’t shift forward any and notice. 

“You’re the man, Tony,” Tim told him deadpan. Sincerity apparently didn’t matter though because Tony let go of Tim long enough to pump his arms in the air in victory. Tim decided he should probably take the opportunity to flip him over. 

“Huh,” Tony said, blinking up at Tim from his new place on the mattress. “Hey!”

Tim grinned down at him and told himself he didn’t miss the weight and heat of Tony on top of him at all. Tony’s window was open and Tim blamed that for why he shivered suddenly.

“Cold?” Tony asked with a really significant look at Tim’s chest.

“What?” Tim folded his arms defensively over his chest.

Tim grinned. ‘Those are mighty perky nipples you got there,” he said and actually reached up to poke.

“Tony,” Tim protested, feeling himself blush and swatting Tony’s finger away.

Tony sat up under him, grabbing Tim around the back of his neck to knuckle Tim’s hair. Tim squirmed but, while he was defending himself, Tony apparently grew another two hands because he managed to tweak Tim’s nipples. 

Tim knew it was supposed to be fun, that it was a game; he’d seen how Tony’s frat brothers are together and he knew it was nothing more than that. That didn’t stop a noise (a deeply embarrassingly, deeply _needy_ noise) from coming out of his throat.

Tony let go instantly. “Woah,” he said, holding up his hands, “Shit, sorry, that was kind of inappropriate, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed except what he wanted to say was no, no it was fine, great, please do it again because Tony’s hands on him had felt far too good.

Tony’s adams apple jumped as he swallowed nervously. Tim watched him lick his lips and it was way too much to resist. 

He leaned in and kissed Tony, a firm press of his mouth against Tony’s. He felt like he was watching himself like some kind of out of body experience.

Then he stopped, rewound that moment and realised that, shit, it had actually happened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, immediately starting to scramble away.

“No,” Tony said, he caught Tim’s wrist and pulled him back down onto the bed before Tim had really found his feet. Tim landed awkwardly and fell half onto Tony. Tony was warm and solid and he wrapped one firm arm around Tim’s shoulders, drawing him close.

“Is this-?” Tim asked breathlessly, no idea what he was trying to say. 

“Yeah,” Tony agreed and then his mouth was back on Tim’s, all soft lips and warm breath and Tim forgot to think for a little while.

Somehow, Tim’s t-shirt ended up rucked up under his armpits and Ton’s hands were on his shoulders, his chest, his hips. Tim tried to suck in his breath when Tony’s hands smoothed over his stomach but it turned out to be impossible to hold your breath and kiss at the same time so he gave up on that. 

Tim gripped Tony’s shoulders, held on while Tony kissed his throat, the soft place just below his ears, making these soft little sounds in his throat like he was pleased about something; it made Tim feel wanted.  
   
“Tony,” Tim groaned, asking for things he couldn’t even put into words, wanting Tony to never stop touching him. “Tony, please, I-.”

Nowhere in there did he say _stop_, but apparently that was what Tony heard because he pulled back, sitting up, dragging in huge breaths and looking down at Tim with dark, blown eyes. "No," he said slowly and Tim's heart sank. "No, fuck, okay, this is not good."  
   
“Why?” Tim asked. He knew he sounded plaintive but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t mean why, he meant what? He meant what did I do wrong? but he managed not to be needy enough to say that out loud.  
   
Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair and smiled insincerely at something in the middle distance, something that definitely wasn’t Tim. “We can’t,” he said.

Tim blinked, feeling frustrated, embarrassment licking at the edges. “Tony?” he asked, hating how young he sounded.  
   
Tony stood up. “We can’t,” he repeated. He wasn’t even pretending to look at Tim now. 

And okay, maybe Tim was kind of a high school looser but he wasn’t going to beg Tony to want him. “Whatever,” he snapped, hoping he sounded mad, not defensive and climbed off the bed.  He was still hard and it ached to move, but he ignored that, walked to the end of the bed, tugging his shirt back down and toeing his shoes on in silence.  

Tony touched his back hesitantly while Tim bent over to tighten his laces. "Hey," he said, "You don't have to go.  We can, you know. Do something else."  
   
"Something that's not making out," Tim clarified, making a face when Tony nodded. "Yeah, no. Thanks, but I've got things to do." 

He had to fight not to let himself slam the front door as he left and pretended not to care that Tony didn’t come after him.  
   
***

Tim spent the next day, hell the next _week_ berating himself for being such an idiot. He really should have learned after the Cecile debacle that life was much, much better when his crushes stayed theoretical.

At school, he asked for and was given extra credit work in the computer science lab and he threw himself into that, writing and rewriting the programme, pulling it to pieces once he was sure it was as good as it could get, just to make it better still. 

“Timmy,” Abby said one evening, appearing in the doorway. Tim didn’t know what time it was but it was late, the janitor had already arrived and swept around him. 

“Hey, Abby,” Tim said without looking up. He’d known it was too good to be true that she hadn’t cornered him yet. 

Abby came into the room and swung herself up to sit on the corner of his bench. She put sharp nails against the underside of his chin and tipped his head up. “Something happened and now you’re sad. Did you fight with your dad?”

“It’s nothing,” Tim said and then, “No, I didn’t fight with my dad,” because he had to give her something and he wasn’t talking about the fool he’d made of himself with Tony.

Abby sat in silence for a while, kicking her heels and watching him. “That doesn’t go there,” she said eventually, poking at the back of his hand. Tim sighed but moved over, giving her space so she could drag a second stool up to the bench. 

“I’m not talking about it,” Tim told her.

Abby grabbed the mouse from his hands. He let her. “Fine,” she said, “I don’t care. Anyway, I came to talk to you about something totally different.”

“What?” Tim asked cautiously. 

“Prom!” Abby said brightly, while Tim choked and spun to face her.

“No way,” he said. He held his hands up, trying to deflect what he’d just heard then realised that was one of Tony’s mannerisms and dropped his hands into his lap immediately. 

“Come on,” Abby said, leaning forward to give him her best pleading eyes. “_Please_, Tim?”

“Why would I want to go?” He’d known he wasn’t going to a prom since he’d known what one _was_.  
   
She put her foot on his chair and spun him a little until he stopped himself with a hand against the side of the desk.  “Because I want to go,” she told him.  “And you want to come with me.”

“Why do you want to go?” Proms really weren’t Abby’s thing either.

Abby shrugged. “I think it’d be fun. And it’s our last chance.” She looked about ten seconds from fluttering her eyelashes. Tim knew it was hopeless; he couldn’t resist Abby when she really wanted something.

“Fine,” he said, bracing himself against the bench just in time when she launched herself on him. Oh well, he thought, at least it would be something else to distract himself with.

***

When Tim got home that evening, there was a message scribbled by the phone in his mom’s sloping handwriting. 

_Tim – Tony called_.

Tim stared at it for endless moments then picked up the note and slowly, carefully crushed it in his fist. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still picture Tony’s face closing down, the way he’d backed away from kissing Tim and hadn’t been able to look him in the eye.

Tim didn’t want to call Tony and have to listen to Tony _tell_ him he wasn’t interested too.

***

Tim’s mom was delighted that he and Abby were going to prom together. No, really, _delighted_. 

“Mom, Abby and I aren’t dating,” Tim told her for the hundredth time while struggling into his tux. It wasn’t even rented; the combination of Tim voluntarily going to a social function and having a ‘date’ for it was apparently enough to warrant his parents buying him his own tux.

His mom just snapped another picture.

“Can I do your hair?” Sarah asked, appearing in Tim’s bedroom doorway as soon as their mom had hurried off to find more film for the camera.

“No,” Tim said firmly, giving her his _I mean it face_ in the mirror. She was wearing her pajamas but had Tim’s discarded cummerbund tied firmly around her waist. Tim did not think she was cute.

“Please?” She wandered into his room and climbed up to bounce on the bed. “You don’t want to look like a dork for Abby, do you?”

“I’m not dating Abby,” Tim said tiredly. He was seriously thinking about getting it tattooed on his head.

“Well, duh,” Sarah said, landing on her butt with an extra big bounce. “You’re dating that boy you talk to on the phone.”

Tim dropped the comb he’d been futzing with and spun around, mouth open. “I-. No. What?”

Sarah just looked at him. It was really unfair how his six year old sister had a better cool face than he did. “I didn’t _tell_ anyone,” she said like that was the important part.

“I’m not-.” Tim had managed not to think about Tony for at least the last hour. It was surprising how much it hurt to think about him again. “I’m not dating him either.”

“Right,” said Sarah, obviously not believing him. She reached out towards Tim’s head. “Let me do your hair.”

Because it was easier than explaining all the ways that Tony really was not his boyfriend, Tim sighed and knelt on the floor so she could reach his hair.

***

“Wow, Tim, you look hot,” was the first thing Abby said after she’d flung her front door open.

Tim didn’t say a word, too busy being tongue-tied because wow, no, _he_ was not the one who looked hot. All the time he’d known Abby, she’d worn heavy-duty boots and clothes in various shades of dark. Even in the summer, she wore black. 

Tonight she was wearing a white low cut Marilyn Monroe dress with a floaty skirt and her hair hanging in soft ringlets. She looked like a whole new girl. Not a_better_ girl, obviously, because there was no better girl than Abby, but she looked like a stranger and Tim wasn’t sure how to speak to her.

“Timmy?” Abby clicked her fingers in front of his face. “Is it the breasts? Have I blinded you?”

Tim cleared his throat and managed to find words. “You look nice,” he mumbled, which was the understatement of the decade. He remembered he was holding a corsage and thrust it at her sort of awkwardly. “Here.”

Abby laughed. “Why thank you,” she said, and offered her wrist for him to fasten it.

Abby’s mom signed that she wanted one more photo before they left and Tim awkwardly agreed, standing at the foot of the stairs while Abby stood a couple of steps higher and wrapped her arms around him from behind. 

“Smile, Timmy,” she ordered after her mom signed something else. 

Tim tried to oblige, but he thought it probably looked more like a grimace. 

***

“Timmy?” Abby asked once she’d pulled up outside school. She reached across for him and pulled him into a hug. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s going to be okay, all right?” 

Tim nodded. How had he ever thought that a new dress made her anyone but his Abby? Her hair smelled familiar, Abby-like and he thought it might be okay to hide his face in it for a little while longer.

They did eventually have to get out of the car and Abby tucked her hand through Tim’s arm, making it look like he was walking her inside, when really she was dragging him. 

“This is hell,” he muttered, as soon as they were in the hall, looking up and up at all the taffeta and lace.  Blue lace, pink lace, it was like Cinderella had exploded all over this place.   
   
Abby turned around and beamed at him.  “I know, right? Isn’t it epic?” She leaned forward on her toes suddenly, waving across the room. “Jimmy!”

“Hey, guys,” Jimmy said, materialising in front of them, looking just as awkward and out of place as Tim felt. He was beaming though. 

“What are you doing here?” Tim asked. Jimmy was a sophomore; he shouldn’t be here.

“Oh, well.” Jimmy bounced his feet, bashful but pleased all at once. “Michelle invited me.”

“Michelle?” Tim asked, at the same time that Abby said, “Michelle _Lee_?”

Jimmy went red but he waved his hands suddenly like he’d thought of something even more amazing than Michelle Lee who he’d had a crush on forever inviting him to prom. “I spoke to Dr. Mallard today,” he said, letting it out all in one breath like he’d been dying to say it for hours now.  
   
“Dr. Mallard in Scotland?” Tim asked.  
   
Jimmy just smiled wider.  “He called me. I emailed him about his latest article and apparently I have interesting ideas.  He asked if I’d thought about going to Edinburgh for med school.”  
   
“That’s great, Jimmy,” Tim said while Abby hugged Jimmy until he squeaked.  
   
“Yeah,” Tim echoed and tried not to feel jealous that Jimmy had another two years before he had to break his life plans to his parents.

***

Overall, the prom was fine. It… happened.  And eventually it ended.  Tim wasn’t really in the mood, but then he hadn’t expected to be.  What mattered was that Abby had a great time. He watched her dance with Jimmy and various teachers, danced with her himself a couple of times and helped her stick sad face stickers on the backs of the people she didn’t like and smiley faces on the backs of people she did.  Prom was worth it for that.

Afterwards, when people started to filter out to after parties and Michelle Lee had dragged off a stunned but delighted looking Jimmy, Tim and Abby sat on the hood of her hearse and kicked their heels.

“I’m going to miss you,” Abby said, resting her head on Tim’s shoulder with a sigh. 

He’d already given her his jacket but now he wrapped an arm around her too, giving her a hug. “Yes,” he agreed then thought that might not be an effusive enough response. “I’ll miss you too.” 

Abby laughed. “Wow, Tim, don’t overdo it,” she said, but snuggled closer all the same.

After a while longer of sitting together, staring up at the sky, Abby sat up and folded her arms. “Okay, you’re going to tell me what’s up with you now,” she said firmly.

Tim knew it was no good really trying to argue with Abby so he prevaricated for a bit instead.

She just looked unimpressed. “You’re not okay,” she said, like that was his fault and he’d be fine once he told her about it.

“Yeah,” Tim said, shaking his head.  “No.” He wasn’t any good at lying to Abby.  
   
“You had a fight with Tony,” Abby said and Tim gaped at her.  She made a face.  “Oh come on, that was an easy one.  I didn’t even have to use my Special Powers of Abby Awesome to work that one out.  You spent a couple of months talking about him all the time and now you haven’t mentioned him for days. What happened?”  
   
Tim blew out a breath.  “He kissed me,” he said quietly, “Or maybe I kissed him?”  
   
“Tim!” Abby said, and he thought for a minute that he’d really shocked her.  Then she started smacking his arm.  Hard.  “And you freaked out?  How could you?  Tony’s so into you.”  
   
“How do you know? You’ve never met him. And no,” Tim said, backing up hurriedly, “No, I didn’t freak out; he did. And ow.  And what, no, Tony’s not into me.  And, also, ow.”  
   
Abby stopped hitting him, frowning instead.  “What are you talking about?  Of course he’s into you.  Why else would he hang out with you so much? But he freaked out when you kissed him?”  
   
Tim shrugged, still embarrassed by the whole thing.  “We were, you know.” He made a hand movement, realised that that meant something totally different, and sat on his hands. “We were making out and suddenly he said he didn’t want to.”  
   
“Huh,” Abby said, frowning.  
   
Exactly! Tim thought, feeling vindicated.  “Exactly,” he said.  
   
“That’s weird.”  
   
“It is.” It really was.  Tim was sure that Tony had been into the kissing and then suddenly he… hadn’t been. And Tim hadn’t realised how disappointed he was going to be about that until it had happened.   
   
“We need to go see him. There has to be more to it than that,” Abby said determinedly and what? No, no, absolutely not.   
   
“Abby, no,” Tim said but she was already climbing into the driver’s seat and god, oh god, this was going to be embarrassing.   
   
***  
   
It started to rain on the way to Berkeley - of course it did, it wouldn’t have been a Lifetime movie dénouement without a little rain – and by the time they pulled up outside Tony’s frat house, Tim was beginning to wish he’d lied and told Abby that Tony lived somewhere completely different.

Abby all but shoved Tim out of the car and sat with the passenger door open, watching while he ducked under the front porch and rang the doorbell.  
   
For a frat house at midnight, it was really dark and quiet.  
   
Eventually, some guy Tim didn’t recognise flung the door open and waved Tim in before wondering off, scratching his ass and closing the TV room door on Tim.  
   
Tim blinked.  He turned around and raised his eyebrows at Abby.  She signed something at him which he didn’t understand but he guessed was either encouragement or a death threat, so he pushed the front door closed and made his way upstairs.  
   
It was quiet up here too, but there was a light shining from under Tony’s bedroom door. Tim swallowed hard then told himself not to be such a coward.  
   
“Yup!” Tony yelled when Tim knocked and Tim knew that that meant he should open the door, that Tony had given him permission to open the door.  Except Tony hadn’t given _Tim_ permission, he’d given it to his anonymous doorknocker and Tim was suddenly frozen because what if Tony didn’t want to see him?  
   
The door flew open and “What?” died half way out of Tony’s lips.  “Tim,” he said, not Frosh, not McGee, not McAnything, just Tim’s name.  
   
“Hi,” Tim said with an awkward little wave that he immediately hated himself for.

Tony stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking a little on his toes. “What are you doing here?”

That was a good question, Tim thought. “Wishing I was somewhere else?” Tim said and relaxed a little when Tony smiled.

“Yeah, I guess you’d better come in,” he said and stood back to let Tim move past him into the room. Tim was careful not to let his arm brush Tony’s chest. He wasn’t sure how either of them would take that.

“Is this the part where we talk?” Tony asked after he’d closed the door. He sounded like he was trying to be flippant but it wasn’t quite working.

“Yes?” Tim said. He had no idea. He wished he’d brought Abby in with him.

“Look,” Tony said then trailed off. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit that Tim had only seen before when he was talking about his exams or his father. 

“I’m sorry about the kissing thing,” Tim said. There, he’d acknowledged it.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes,” Tim said then, “No. Not really.” He wasn’t sorry about the kissing. He was sorry he’d freaked Tony out though.

Tony sighed once Tim had told him that. “Crap,” he said, sitting down on his bed. He jerked his chin and Tim followed him, sitting on the same edge of the mattress but at a respectable distance away. “You didn’t freak me out with the kissing.” His lips quirked. “You think you’re the first person to kiss me or something?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Tony, that’s what I think.” His sarcasm didn’t really take him anywhere though and he trailed off, rubbing his palms over his suit pants where they stretched across his thighs. “So what?”

Tony was quiet for so long that Tim didn’t think he was going to get an answer. “I guess I like you?” Tony admitted at last.

Tim felt his heart try to soar but he told it to quit that. There was no way there wasn’t a but coming.

“But.” There it was. “You’re really young, McGee. A regular McJailbait.”

Tim couldn’t help it; he made a face. “I’m not that much younger than you.” He wasn’t. In ten years time, five years would be nothing. “Besides, I’m way more mature.”

Tony laughed sharply, some of the missing spark returning to his eyes. Tim was pleased he’d done that at least. “That’s debatable,” he said. Tim chose to believe he wasn’t really disagreeing.

Feeling ridiculously buoyed by Tony’s smile, Tim put his hand on Tony’s wrist. “You like me?” he asked, just to check. “I like you.” Those words were way scarier than they should have been.

Tony didn’t throw Tim’s hand off, which Tim chose to take as a good sign. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Tim asked, lifting his chin. He could be just as stubborn as Tony; just watch him.

Tony’s other hand lifted, his thumb stroking the back of Tim’s hand, both of them watching it like neither of them were controlling it. “I’m not the guy you think I am,” Tony said, his voice gone quiet, serious. “I’m not that good a guy.”

“Tony,” Tim protested.

Tony waved him quiet. “No, listen. Wait ‘til you get to college, okay? You can have your pick of guys or girls or whatever. None of them will be as hot as me, obviously, but they’ll probably be better for you.”

“Everyone always tries to tell me what’s good for me,” Tim said because it was better than the instinctive reply he wanted to give, that Tony was the guy he wanted, no one else. He wasn’t feeling brave enough to put himself out there quite that much. “I think you’re a better guy that you think you are.”

Tony opened his mouth – presumably to argue, but Tim shook his head. He made himself laugh a little, like he was surer about this than he felt. “It’s not like I’m saying I want to be soul mates or whatever. I can always dump your ass if you’re a sucky boyfriend, right?”

“Don’t say boyfriend, Frosh,” Tony said, sounding pained. He was smiling though and Tim thought he might have gotten somewhere.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked and hoped he was letting on just how important Tony’s answer was. 

Tony laughed again, the last bit of strain leaving his face. “I’m pretty sure I should be asking you that.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “So ask.”

“Tim,” Tony said but then he didn’t ask, he just kissed and that was fine with Tim. Tony’s hands curled tight in the collar of Tim’s shirt, reeling him in and keeping him there, their lips smushed hard together like maybe Tim wasn’t the only one who’d been stupidly lonely these last couple of days.

Experimentally, Tim licked Tony’s bottom lip and Tony drew back a little, sucking in a gasp. 

“Was that-?” Tim started to ask but Tony was kissing him again before he could check whether it had been okay, which Tim took as evidence that it had. Tony tilted his head a little, lining their mouths up, both sets of their lips slightly parted. 

It wasn’t Tim’s first kiss, that had been the disaster from the other day, but it was his second and Tim could already see why people did this over and over again. Already he was feeling kind of lost, drunk on Tony’s mouth, but a good kind of drunk, one that he didn’t want to end.  
   
Eventually, the kiss broke naturally and Tony paused to straighten Tim’s collar rather than pulling all the way back. “You look awesome,” he told him, looking Tim up and down and smiling a smile that made Tim’s blood feel hot.   
   
Tim shrugged awkwardly.  “Prom,” he said.  
   
Tony’s eyebrows shot up.  “You skipped prom for me?” he asked, sounding impressed.  
   
“No, because this is not a teen drama,” Tim told him, maybe a little snappishly.  “I went to prom, then I came here.”  He didn’t tell Tony that he would happily have skipped prom if that had been what he’d needed to do to get Tony to kiss him.  Then he remembered Abby.  
   
“What?” Tony asked when Tim swore, but Tim waved him quiet, hurrying to the window to lean out.  The hearse was still sitting on the street.

“Is that a hearse?” Tony asked, pressing up against Tim to see what he was looking at.  
   
Tim reached back and found the first thing on Tony’s bed that would work, an old rubber ball. It bounced off the roof of the hearse with a really unexpectedly loud thump and it only took a second for Abby to appear out of the sky light, looking up at him in alarm while rain poured down onto her, soaking her dress.

“Wow, who’s your friend?” Tony asked.

He sounded far too appreciative, so Tim ignored him.  
   
“Timothy,” Abby shouted, “I thought someone was shooting at me!”  
   
“Sorry,” Tim called back.

“Hi,” Tony added, leaning out until there was rain soaking his collar. “I’m Tony.”

Abby waved, frowning from him to Tim and back. “Good,” she said seriously, “Are you done upsetting Tim?” 

“Oh god,” Tim muttered, covering his face with his hands.

“I am,” Tony told her and he sounded like he was laughing at her but he always sounded like he was laughing at everyone. Underneath it, he sounded serious.

Tim risked a quick look at him. He _looked_ serious, too.

“Good,” Abby said again. “Tim, do you need to me stay?” and Tim knew that she’d stay all night if he asked her too; he was really glad he had her as a friend.  
   
“You can go,” Tony said.  His arm had somehow found its way around Tim’s waist, squeezing and stroking his hip.  “Right, Tim?”  
   
“I, um, yes?” Tim stammered, completely distracted by Tony’s hand on him. Abby beamed at them, making the shape of a heart with her hands, before disappearing back into the car.  

She drove off a minute later and Tim watched until she was gone, then he ducked back into the room and closed the window.  
   
He didn’t realise that his hair was wet until Tony’s hands slid through it.   
   
“Sticky,” Tony said, stroking Tim’s temples with his thumbs.  “How much product did you use?”  
   
“Not that much,” Tim told him defensively, but then it didn’t matter because Tony was kissing him again.  It was ridiculous how that was enough to make Tim relax.  
   
“Sorry,” Tony said when they were sitting on the bed again, Tony’s chin on Tim’s shoulder. “I kind of sent away your ride, huh?”

Tim shrugged. “I can get a cab,” he said, because as awesome as this was, he thought that maybe if he stayed and if they slept together too soon it might make Tony freak out about again.

Tony nodded. “I’ll get you one,” he promised. He stroked his hand up Tim’s arm to the open V of his shirt. “You should have a bowtie,” he murmured and, “You don’t want to go yet, right?”

“I don’t want to go yet,” Tim agreed and tipped his head back to give Tony more room when Tony pressed his mouth to the place where Tim’s hypothetical bowtie should have been.

***

Tim woke up with sunlight burning his eyelids and a crick in his neck.

Blearily, he groped out toward where he expected his bedside clock to be, except it wasn’t; his bedside table wasn’t there either and he ended up smacking something soft but not particularly yielding instead. 

What the hell? he thought finally getting his eyes to focus and oh, okay, that would explain it; he wasn’t in his bedroom. He wasn’t even in bed. He was lying on top of the comforter, Tony’s arm around his shoulders and his head on Tony’s chest. 

Humming sleepily, he settled back down. This was definitely a good way to wake up. He remembered swapping kisses long into the night until Tony’s lips had been swollen red and his own hadn’t felt any better, he remembered getting sleepy and Tony laughing at him, lying down with him and promising not to let him sleep too long and he remembered knowing that that wouldn’t happen, that Tony was on the brink of sleep too and not caring. It wasn’t until right now that he remembered that he hadn’t called home. Crap, he was going to be in so much trouble.

With a reluctant groan, Tim carefully untangled himself from Tony and rolled out of bed. He was still dressed, right down to his dress shirt but one glance in the bathroom mirror showed that he looked a rumbled mess. He tried to comb his fingers through his hair but it was pretty much a lost cause.

Back in the bedroom, Tony’s head had tipped back against the headboard and he was snoring softly. “Hey,” Tim said, kneeling by Tony’s side of the bed. “Hey, I’ve got to go.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered open, soft green and smiling at Tim. “Hey,” he said, reaching out clumsily. His fingers hit Tim’s collar and he frowned. “You’re going.”

“I’ve got to.” Tim really didn’t want to. “My parents are going to kill me of staying out all night.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony struggled to sit up. “Give me a minute and I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”

Tim smiled. “You don’t have to-.”

Tony held up a hand. “Uhuh, Frosh, you spend a night with me, you get a proper morning after experience.” His smile turned wicked. “So to speak of course.”

***

Sneaking home at ten o’clock in the morning was actually more fun than Tim had anticipated. He waved at Mrs. Crosby who was tending her garden then jogged up to his front door.

Okay, maybe Abby had had a point about Tim having bounce.

“Where were you?” Sarah whispered from the foot of the stairs when Tim let himself in. She pointed toward the living room and put her finger to her lips. 

Tim can’t control his smile. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked. Sarah nodded even though they both knew she really couldn’t. Tim didn’t care; he was going to have to tell him parents eventually and he wasn’t ashamed. “I was with my friend, that boy I talk to on the phone.”

Sarah grinned. “He is your boyfriend,” she said, like she’d never doubted it.

Tim ducked his head. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, and grinned when she giggled, putting a finger to his lips.

Sarah’s expression went wicked. “Mom!” she yelled, laughing at him and Tim had no other option; he had to grab her and give her the world’s biggest noogie. 

She was dangling upside down over Tim’s lap, gone silent with convulsive laughter by the time their mom reached them.

“Timothy,” she said, hands on her hips. Reluctantly, Tim set Sarah back onto her feet and prodded her toward the kitchen. 

They both waited for Sarah to disappear from sight before Tim’s mom arched her eyebrows at him. “I know it was prom night, Tim, but I always thought you were my sensible boy.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, drawing his shoulders up, “I’m really sorry I didn’t call.”

His mom waved that away. “With the state Abby said you were in, I think I’m glad you didn’t try. Honestly, you know the punch is always spiked at these things.”

“I-. Abby?” Tim asked cautiously.

For the first time, his mom’s lips twitched. Tim suspected that he was missing something important. And that he might not be in the same level of trouble as he’d been expecting. “She called me once she’d put you to bed. You’re lucky to have a friend like her.”

‘’I’m. Yes.” Tim needed to do something big for Abby, like go to the next Plastic Death concert she invited him to. “Sorry, mom.”

“Oh, go sleep it off,” his mom said and she was definitely trying not to smile now. 

Upstairs, Tim dived under the comforter, phone already in hand to call Abby. “_Thank you_,” he said when she answered. 

The noise she made wasn’t entirely human, but the, “Oh my god, Tim, I want _details_,” definitely was.

***

Having a boyfriend was kind of weird. Not that Tim was allowed to use the word ‘boyfriend’ because it made Tony go strange and call him stupid nicknames in random accents until Tim was laughing and complete forgot what he’d been saying. 

It wasn't a bad weird though; it was a really good one. Especially when they spent a lot of their time inducting Tim in what Tony called ‘the ways of the passion’ and everyone else just called sex. 

Tony had just finished his last exam so they’d been indulging in some of those ways of passion all afternoon, which meant that Tim was late home to dinner. 

“Were you with your _boyfriend_?” Sarah asked after he skidded in late to the dinner table, her voice a teasing sing-song. Tim’s heart stopped. Sarah’s eyes went wide and she slapped a hand over her mouth, looking so genuinely upset that he knew she hadn’t done it deliberately.

“It’s okay,” Tim told her quietly. “It’s fine.”

“Timothy?” his dad asked, putting down his knife and looking up. “What does she mean by that?”

It would have been so easy to lie. His dad trusted him; he’d believe that Sarah was just being a brat, but lying about Tony felt like all kinds of wrong. 

“She means was I with my boyfriend,” Tim told him, tipping his chin up. “I was.”

Tim’s dad was career Navy, he knew how not to react to bad news. It didn’t occur to Tim that his dad will take this as anything but the worst possible news.

His dad though, he didn’t say anything for a minute, then all he did say was, “What about the Navy?” And it wasn’t like Tim had expected his dad would scream at him or anything, but he’d sort of expected more of a reaction. Maybe he just wasn’t surprised. 

This shouldn’t have been harder to say than coming out was, but it was. “I’m not going into the Navy,” Tim told him. “I applied to Johns Hopkins for Biomedical Engineering and they accepted me. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Tim’s dad’s fork joined his knife on his plate with a clatter. Tim’s mom put down her glass with a thud. Sarah’s hand slipped into Tim’s.

“I see,” his dad said. He stood up. “Excuse me.”

Tim watched him go, feeling helpless, but not wanting to take it back. 

***

“He didn’t disown you, right?” Tony asked. They were sharing a slushee at the diner, Jimmy and Abby and Michelle crammed together on the other side of the table. 

“What, no.” Tim said. He made himself smile. “People don’t actually do that, Tony.”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered, looking away. 

“So what happened?” Abby asked.

Tim shrugged. “He just went really quiet. The rest of the evening was pretty awkward but he didn’t yell. He’s just… disappointed, I guess.” Tim hated that he’d done that, that he’d disappointed his dad. Under the table, Tony squeezed his knee.

“He’ll get over it,” Abby promised him. “Your dad loves you. Right, Jimmy?” She elbowed him hard in the arm.

“What?” Jimmy jumped. He’d pretty much done nothing but stare at Michelle since they’d sat down. “Oh, right.”

Tony knocked his knee against Tim’s. “Can I borrow you a minute, Frosh?”

“Sure?” Confused, Tim followed Tony out of their booth and outside into the California summer sun. 

“Tony?” Tim asked. He was pretty sure Tony was not about to break up with him but, still, he couldn’t help being a little apprehensive. 

Tony pulled Tim down so they were sitting on a far wall, sunlight spilling over them. Tim squinted then laughed when Tony produced some shades, sliding them up Tim’s nose. He squeezed Tim’s shoulder after, then tripped his fingers down Tim’s arm, ending with his hand curled around Tim’s wrist. 

“So,” Tony said, “Baltimore. That’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” Tim echoed. “What does that mean?”

Tony shrugged. “Nothing. Just that I happen to have here something that might be _interesting_ to you.” He pulled out a few sheaves of paper from his pocket and handed them to Tim. 

Quickly, Tim skim read the pages then stopped, went back, read them again. “Baltimore Police Academy?” he read, voice rising in disbelief at the end there. He dropped the papers into his lap. “Tony, what did you do?”

“I told you,” Tony said, “I was looking for something meaningful to do and what’s more meaningful than being a cop?”

Tim could see it actually, not Tony as a beat cop, but a slick detective in a really cool suit, yeah, he could see that. “But Baltimore?” he asked.

This time, Tony looked away. “Got to do it somewhere, right? And California was getting boring.”

“You love California,” Tim said before he could think better of it. He knew what Tony was doing here, knew this was a way bigger gesture than anyone had ever done for him before. 

Tony tipped his head, looking at Tim over the top of his sunglasses. “I just might,” he agreed and Tim had a moment of insane lightheadedness where he suspected that Tony might not actually be talking about California at all.

***

_Epilogue: September – Johns Hopkins, Baltimore_

Tim had a red plastic cup in his hand and the beginnings of a nice, comfortable buzz going on. He’d been in college for two whole weeks now; he was starting to learn how to drink.

“Hey, so Tim, right?” a guy Tim had definitely never met before leaned his hand against the wall by Tim’s head.

“Yeah?” Tim asked cautiously. People kept hitting on him here; it was weird. Apparently geek was sexy in college.

“I’m Craig, I’m in your geometry class.”

“Oh, hey, man,” Tim said, trying not to sound too encouraging. He finished his drink and waved it awkwardly in Craig’s face. “I’m just going to-.”

“Hey, I’ll come with. I’m out, too.”

“Right,” Tim agreed. There was no harm in being friendly. College was cool but it was also huge and full of people; Abby and Jimmy had never felt so far.

Before he could get to the keg though, someone else was catching his wrist and wow, this was getting ridiculous.

He turned around, wondering where he could find a sign that said _thanks, but I have a boyfriend_, but instead of another guy or girl from one of his classes, it was his actual boyfriend.

“Hey,” he said, forgetting all about the keg or anything else. 

Tony grinned. “Hey, college kid.”

“Hey, creepy older guy,” Tim said, feeling himself gravitate toward Tony in a really embarrassingly obvious way. 

Tony laughed. He reached out and fingered the collar of Tim’s leather jacket. “Looking good, McFashionable.”

Tim could easily have said the same thing. The Academy had made Tony cut his hair above his ears, out of his eyes and he’d stopped using product. Every time Tim saw him lately, he was grinning wider. Apparently the Academy had been the right choice for him.

Tim felt brave all of a sudden. He had no interest in staying in the closet; if he couldn’t be open in college, where could he be? He tugged his sleeve from between Tony’s fingers and put his hand in Tony’s instead. 

“Hey,” he said again and kissed him. Over Tony’s shoulder, he caught Craig watching them. He didn’t seem mad, just raised his cup to Tim like he approved of Tim’s taste. Tim grinned then turned that grin on Tony. “Drive me home?” he asked.

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Tony took the empty - empty, it was totally empty - cup from Tim and chucked it somewhere over his shoulder. “Not sure I let drunken freshman in my ride.”

“Jerk,” Tim said, slapping him on the shoulder with the back of one hand, “That’s my _ride_. Car,” - it had to be ‘car’; Tim couldn’t pull off ‘ride’ - “That’s my car.”

“Yeah.” Tony jiggled the keys, bouncing them from hand to hand, once, twice, before shoving them back in his pocket and taking hold of Tim’s wrist instead. Tim thought about making a token protest but he really didn’t mind being led wherever Tony wanted him to go. “We’ll see about that.”

/End

  
Thank you for reading. All feedback gleefully received ♥


End file.
